


The Blood of Winterfell

by Queenofthebees



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon - Book, Cousin Incest, Endgame Jonsa, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Scheming, some show elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2018-12-23 08:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11985708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthebees/pseuds/Queenofthebees
Summary: Following his resurrection, Jon plans to rescue Arya from Ramsay. He needs an army though and agrees to marry Alayne Stone to get The Vale to his cause.Meanwhile, Sansa Stark is planning to take down those who have harmed her family. And protect her remaining family by whatever means necessary.Because when the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.And Winter is Coming.(Book canon alternative)





	1. Sing me a song of a lass that is gone

If Jon Snow had arrived at the Vale two years prior, she would have rejoyced at seeing him, would have flung herself in his arms and apologised over and over for being such a cruel sister to him until he would tell her there was nothing to forgive. And she knew Jon would have done what Robb never could, (or would, the bitter part of that girl had thought for so long) and take her home, would fight for her.

“Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa,” Jon would have said. She knew he would never take a living true-born siblings claim, not even from a sister who had never cared for him like she should have.

But she had learned to be Alayne at all times and Alayne knew no Jon Snow, knew no Northerner and certainly knew nothing of Winterfell. But there were always some moments, when she was lonely and swear she could hear a wolf howl in the wind ( _It sounds like a ghost of a wolf she would think. Did I not know such a wolf once?)_ , Sansa Stark would appear in her mind, for a brief moment.  She would think of dear father and mother, of sweet Bran and Rickon and grieve again for them, taken too soon. She would wonder if wild Arya was alive somewhere and vowed if she ever saw her again, she would apologise for being so cruel to her too and would tell her how proud she was of her.

She thought of Robb too. The hero to her princess when they played Monsters and Maidens, a brother who vowed to protect her, had always comforted her when she and Arya would fight. Arya had Jon and Sansa had Robb. Sometimes she had felt that Robb was the only sibling who had accepted her and her southern preferences. He had never laughed at her dreams of princes and heroes, of her soft and gentle nature that was such a contrast to the North.

She missed him like all her siblings but the sadness was greater for him, for all the wrong reasons. Because it was always tinged with the bitter knowledge that while she may have been his precious sister in Winterfell, she was not worth trading for when it mattered. He left me in Kings Landing, he left a wolf alone. What happened to “the lone wolf dies but the pack survives”?

But Jon had arrived, only just having time to clean his face, hands and neck from the basin offered outside the room. He strode in confidently, stopping in front of her and Petyr. The brother she had not thought of for so long, had barely acknowledged in all her time at Winterfell was the one who had come to take her home, to free her from the tower of the Vale like the maiden in the songs she had once loved so much. ( _You are still a stupid girl with stupid dreams. He is here for Alayne, not Sansa.)_

Petyr had stepped forward, his head inclining ever so slightly in acknowledgement.

“Jon Snow,” he stated coolly. Jon had merely blinked at him though she noticed how his hand never stopped gripping the top of his sword. Her eyes could barely move from the white wolf on the hilt, her breath catching in her throat. Petyr seemed to not notice as he held his hand out to gesture to her. “I present my daughter and your betrothed, Alayne Stone.”

She moved forward, her head held high and her blue eyes locked on Jon’s. She dipped into a curtsey, her grey skirts pooling at her feet and her eyes lowering demurely.

“My Lord,” she purred, the way she had learned to speak to Harry during their brief courtship. Jon had looked at her intensely for a moment when she had risen again. She stared right back at him, her shoulders set and her back straight refusing to be intimidated.

Not _all strength comes from a sword. I can be as brave as Robb, as sweet as Bran, as wilful as Rickon and Arya. I can be as much a wolf as you all._

“Alayne,” he repeated finally. “That is a pretty name.”

She felt the breath leave her sharply, her shoulders dropping in her minute second of shock. That part of her she had thought long dead, the ghost of Sansa Stark with her pretty songs and gallant knights stirred. _He remembered!_

“Thank you. I am so looking forward to seeing the North, my Lord.”

“Jon,” he stated simply before he returned his gaze to Petyr, who gestured towards the table to indicate they should to sit for the meal he had ordered to be served for their guest. She was to sit opposite Jon, where he could see all her charms and graces, Petyr had said with a knowing smile.

“Lord Snow, I know your father was a man of honour and I do not doubt you are much like him,” Petyr began as the wine started to pour. “But, well, your brother’s tragic fate after jilting Frey’s daughters… I would like to know my daughter is wedded and bedded before I give my army to your cause.”

Jon took a large gulp of the wine he had just been poured. His eyes flickered to hers and then, for a brief second down to the cleavage she was practically pushing in his face from the way her dress was cut. She felt Petyr smirk beside her as Jon looked to him again.

“I understand,” he said coolly. He took another drink. “My sister is trapped at Winterfell, with that monster Ramsay Bolton. I will do what it takes to save her.”

“Of course,” Petyr replied. “And, what of your claim to the Iron Throne?”

“I do not lay claim to anything,” Jon replied stiffly. “I have no want or need of that throne. I only want my family safe and Winterfell restored to the Starks. I may only be half a Stark but I am of the North. I belong in the North and I will fight for the North, always.” He seemed to drift into a world of his own for a moment.

Petyr said nothing. Jon looked at her again and opened his mouth but seemed to think better of saying whatever he was thinking and quickly took another large gulp of wine.

“We heard that it was a Nights Watch member who told you of your true parentage my Lord?” she said after a few moments of tense silence.

“Yes,” he replied. “My friend Sam, who returned to The Wall recently. He found the records of Rhaegar and Lyanna’s marriage. Unfortunately, that has been widely released now after the Citadel in Oldtown took the book from Sam and banished him. So, the whole of the seven kingdoms know my claim and that I have left the Nights Watch. The Lannisters would want me dead I am sure but I doubt they will venture this far North. However, they will get Ramsay to do their dirty work I am sure.”

“I am sorry he has your sister, My Lord.”

Petyr had told her that it was not the real Arya Stark in Winterfell. The true identity of Ramsay’s bride did nothing to quell her anxiousness and revulsion. _Poor Jeyne_.

“She is all that remains of Ned Stark’s children,” Jon said softly, his eyes going distant again.

“That you know of,” she said without thinking. Petyr glanced at her. Jon blinked. “Sorry My Lord. I merely meant that Starks are said to be survivors. Perhaps they are still out there. If your sister could appear then so can the others.” Jon simply nodded but she could see that he did not believe her. They returned to their meal.

_He can’t see you are right in front of him. But why would he recognise you? You were a girl of eleven when you left Winterfell. You had no breasts, no hips. You were shorter and had auburn hair rather than this dull brown. Besides, you had never spent much time together before you went your separate ways anyway. Why would he even want to remember you? You barely remembered him until you came here._

Jon cleared his throat suddenly and set down his cutlery, dabbing his mouth with the napkin. “I was afraid to broach this subject but I fear I must be honest, Lord Baelish, My Lady.”

Petyr dabbed his own mouth and signalled for Jon’s cup to be refilled. She had not taken a drink of her own yet.

“Continue.”

“When I rescue Arya and take Winterfell back,” he began before running his hand through his hair. He huffed and the next words came through gritted teeth as though it pained him to say them. “I intend to ask the Northern Lords to name me Lord of Winterfell.”

“You would take the claim of Ned Stark’s daughter away from her?” Petyr asked, his eyebrows rising in surprise. Jon had the decency to look ashamed.

“Not through my own wishes. But Arya, she never wanted to be a Lady,” he began. “And many Lords would take advantage of her ruling alone to press their own marriage proposals upon her. I cannot think who would cause the most chaos, the Lords in their anger at her inevitable rejection, or her in her righteous anger at being considered a broodmare again. I feel that Arya would understand the decision, once we discuss it and I will make sure she stays in Winterfell and has a role to play. But for the sake of peace, I will take the seat of Winterfell with your daughter as my Lady wife.”

“And if your other siblings return? You have two true-born brothers do you not?” Petyr asked.

“If Bran or Rickon return to Winterfell, I will give Winterfell to them.”

“Very well,” Petyr said. “Forgive me, but there is much I need to discuss with the young Lord Arryn. Alayne, keep our guest entertained will you my dear?”

“Of course, father.”

“There is no need,” Jon said standing up, wobbling slightly from the wine he had drunk. “I was just going to retire myself.”

“Finish your wine at least Lord Snow. And Alayne will show you to your chambers.”

Jon sat back down, glancing at her again. She smiled at him, lifting her cup and inclining it towards him.

“A toast then?” she said, her eyes deliberately raking down his body, making sure she saw her lick her lips. “To our marriage. I hope I am not a disappointment to you, My Lord.”

“No,” he replied quickly, his hand grabbing his own cup and clinking it with hers.

“My first intended husband was disappointed in me,” she said casually after she had taken her first drink, letting her fingers play with the rim of her cup. Jon choked on his wine, his hand coming to catch the few drops that dripped from his beard. She continued anyway. “Said he was too good for a bastard. Not too good to father them though, it would seem.”

“I am sorry,” Jon said. “You will be treated like a proper Lady once we return to Winterfell. If it pleases you to be a Lady of Winterfell, of course.”

 _My beloved_ _Lady is buried at Winterfell too. I would never have been afraid if she had been with me all this time. Just like Winterfell is my strength too. I was always meant to go home_.

“You are kind. And I will be honoured to be your Lady,” she whispered, her voice dropping and her eyes lowering. Jon was a man of honour but he was a man all the same Petyr had said. “Shall we go to bed My Lord?”

Jon choked again and glared at her when he noticed her grin. “Aye,” he replied gruffly, standing up. He seemed to pause for a moment before offering her his arm. She let her fingers spread over his bicep, her other hand coming around to clasp his wrist. She could feel him sway a little from the drink and she gripped him closer to her, so close she could smell the pine and he was sure to smell the rose perfume. “ _Winer roses,” Petyr had said. “Make him feel like he is home.”_

She stopped at his chambers door, turning to face him and moving her arm from his to clasp both hands gently around his wrist. He stared. She watched him swallow before he met her gaze. She felt her lips part invitingly. His eyes moved to them.

“My Lady,” he whispered.

“My Lord,” she returned. The silence stretched for an eternity. His eyes found hers again.

“We shouldn’t.”

“We aren’t doing anything My Lord,” she said simply, her fingers stroking his wrist where she could feel his pulse. “Just bidding each other goodnight.” She moved back then, dipping into a low curtsey before walking away. She turned her head at the corner, giving him a wide smile “Goodnight, My Lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from the Outlander opening song
> 
> Note: So, Sansa knows Jon is her cousin. Petyr found out somehow but since he didn’t care in the show about Jon suddenly abandoning the NW, he doesn’t care here either lol. Sansa/Alayne is deliberately seducing Jon but it’s a case of survival. She knows if Jon doesn’t marry her and bed her then Petyr will. And would make him carry his child if Jon doesn’t get her pregnant. She’s basically trying to make Jon her husband in every way she can to get herself out of Petyr’s grasp. Yes, it’s a shame for Jon to be played and to eventually find out its Sansa he has married. But hopefully its understandable why Sansa/Alayne is trying to get Jon to bed her. She knows being married to Jon when she reveals herself as Sansa will keep her out of Littlefingers’ reach and keep her safe in Winterfell.


	2. I'm burning, I'm burning, I'm burning for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am over-whelmed at the response to this story. I honestly just felt there was a lack of Jon/Alayne AUs and was merely dabbing my toes in the water. You are all so kind and I hope you all continue to enjoy this story!

Jon let his head fall back against the closed door with a groan. He closed his eyes, trying not to think of her wide blue eyes, ( _how many men have drowned in those eyes?),_ her soft fingers, her intoxicating scent.

_Gods, did I come back as a lustful fool?_

He couldn’t remember being this powerless with a woman before, not even with Ygritte who would pin his down under the furs and…

_Seven Hells, who have I become?_

He moved across the room to his wash basin and proceeded to splash the cool liquid on his face before grabbing a towel to dry himself. A knock sounded at the door, startling him. _Is she so brazen to come to my chambers at night before the wedding?_

“Come in,” he managed to choke out, his hand gripping the towel tightly. A handmaiden entered with a couple of buckets of water. Jon released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“I am to run your bath, My Lord,” the girl said, giving a small curtsey before moving to the tub that sat behind his dressing screen.

“Thank you.” He placed the cloth down and moved to the desk and chair, sitting down to remove his boots. “Tell Lord Baelish I am grateful for his hospitality,” he added suddenly. _Forgetting your courtesies. What would Sansa have said?_

He frowned. He had not thought of Sansa in so long. He knew she had been accused of Joffrey’s murder but she had disappeared and was never seen again. Jon hated to think it but, after two years the evidence seemed to suggest she was long dead. Like Father, Robb and Bran and Rickon. And it probably would be better for Arya to be dead than with Ramsay, he thought bitterly.

“…she said she was going to take one herself anyway so insisted I tell you it was no trouble.”

Jon blinked and turned to see the girl standing by the screen. “Pardon?”

“It was Miss Alayne who asked for me to draw you a bath My Lord. She thought that you would need to relax after such a long journey. And she said she was going to take one herself anyway and so insisted that I tell you it was no trouble.”

“Well, in that case be sure to pass on my thanks to her.”

The servant girl curtsied and left the room. Jon removed his clothes and stepped into the tub. He moaned softly as he sunk deeper into the warm water, feeling the tension ebb out of his body as he let his head rest on the rim and letting his eyes drift shut in bliss.

But his thoughts drifted to Alayne and his impending marriage. Stannis had once offered the wildling Princess Val’s hand in marriage but Jon had refused. He had not wanted to take Winterfell from Sansa, the eldest true-born heir.

Jon’s eyes opened as he frowned again. Sansa had so wanted a happy life, a true love and a sweet prince. Instead Joffrey and the Queen had betrayed her trust, humiliated her and had forced her to flee Kings Landing and fend for herself. He could barely stomach the thought of a girl like Sansa being killed or raped while on her own in the wilderness. It was not a fate he wanted to believe of any of his siblings.

_Gods she would have been terrified. And no hero would have come for her. Such a cruel way for her to go._

Now Sansa was dead and with Arya held by Ramsay, he had no time to be picky about the alliance deals he was being offered. He had to marry Alayne to get the Regent Lord of the Vale’s armies.

_If you had come sooner, maybe you would have saved Sansa too. But you barely thought of her, let alone thought of rescuing her. Not like you wanted to help Robb or how you are rescuing Arya now._

He sighed and reached to the cloth and soap that the servant girl had left on the table by his bath washing away the dirt from the road and the guilt that he had not thought of his sweet sister as often as his other siblings.

 

***

“I would like for the wedding to take place within the next few days,” Lord Baelish said as they broke their fast the next morning. “Then we can move North to reclaim Winterfell.”

Jon glanced up, his hands frozen on the bread he had been breaking. Baelish raised an eyebrow and gave a pointed stare and Jon flushed in embarrassment as he cleared his throat.

“Yes, the sooner I move North the better.” He glanced at Alayne and she smiled at him. She was wearing another grey dress today although this one had a white neckline and a white rim around the bottom skirts. Her hair was done in a simple braid, similar to the Northern style. Jon smiled at the effort she was making. For a bastard girl, she was proving to be smart enough to adapt to her new role. Jon thought it was even more attractive than her pretty face.

“I have arranged a feast tonight to celebrate,” Baelish continued, stirring Jon out of his thoughts. “Alayne may be my baseborn daughter but she is loved by all here in The Vale, like a lady in a song. The inhabitants would love to give her their well-wishes and join in her happiness.”

“Your daughter is a credit to you Lord Baelish,” Jon stated simply. Baelish took Alayne’s hand and kissed it softly. Alayne smiled at her father.

“I am very proud of her,” Baelish agreed, looking at his daughter for a few beats before turning to Jon again. “Now, shall we say the feast tonight and then the ceremony two days from now?”

“If that is agreeable,” Jon replied, feeling his neck heat up. _Seven hells, it is like being a green boy all over again._

Baelish smiled and signalled for the servant to clean up.

“I must make plans for tonight. But please, make yourself at home.”

“Thank you, Lord Baelish.”

 

***

“Tell me about Winterfell,” Alayne said as they walked through the corridors of the Eyrie, arms linked as they had been last night.

“What would you like to know?”

“Everything,” she replies, her blue eyes shining with interest and Jon cannot help but be endeared to her. She is a sweet woman, he admits. And very pretty. He wondered if she had noticed him staring at her when they were first introduced.

“Well, um,” he paused wondering where to start. “It can seem intimidating from the outside with the tall, grey towers but it has beauty inside. There are the hot springs, near the Godswood. I often went there to think or to escape.”

“I look forward to visiting it,” she murmured. Jon looked at her in surprise.

“You keep to the Old Gods my Lady?” he asked. She smiled and seemed to look into space for a moment.

“No,” she answered eventually. “I was raised to believe in the New Gods although we do have a small Godswood here but no heart tree. In truth, it is more a garden than a Godswood. I would like to see a true one though.”

“You will be most welcome to explore Winterfell’s Godswood My Lady.”

Alayne laughed and Jon frowned and came to a halt, looking at her in confusion as he wondered what he had said to amuse her. She simply smiled at him, her eyes twinkling in amusement as she squeezed his bicep affectionately. His eyes drifted down of their own accord.

“I am no Lady, Jon Snow,” she said. Her cheeks flushed and she gave a small, nervous laugh. “I did not mean that I … that I was offering … I just meant that I am simply a bastard girl. No need for such formalities with me.” Jon swallowed at the implication of her words.

“You have called me ‘My Lord’ often enough,” he stated in an attempt to distract from his thoughts. 

“I am merely being a dutiful wife. My husband _is_ my Lord.”

“No,” he said with a frown. She tilted her head, her confusion as endearing as those eyes of hers. “That is not the marriage I want. If I cannot call you My Lady then you shall not call me ‘My Lord’.”

“Very well,” she shrugged. “What shall I call you?”

“Jon. And you are Alayne.” She smiled, her teeth glinting in the torchlight.

_Such a wolf of a smile. You would fit right in in the North._

 “If it please you.”

“Aye, it would.” He smiled back at her, his hand squeezing hers in his simple display of affection. Her eyes crinkled as her smile grew. _How could Baelish have such a daughter?_

He suddenly realised she was staring at his mouth and his own eyes drifted down to her own pink lips, watching the tip of her tongue poke out and lick them. Jon swallowed again, his eyes refusing to move from her mouth as he debated whether he should kiss her. With Ygritte, he never had the chance to be in doubt as she had always been the one to move on him, pressing her mouth to his and parting his lips with her tongue, pinning him down and guiding him inside of her.  It had always been on Ygritte’s terms and his body had willingly complied to her whims, even as his mind and heart had battled between his desires and his honour. Jon didn’t think he had much honour left now given the way he was thinking about how Alayne would look if he were to kiss her.

_Seven hells._

“Jon,” she whispered. He blinked, his breath coming out in a small hiss as he stepped back. His hand let go of hers and he immediately missed the warmth.

_Lady Stark was right about you and your bastard blood after all._

“I should go,” he muttered, looking away even as he heard Lady Catelyn’s disapproving sniffs ringing in his head. “I look forward to seeing you tonight, Alayne.”

He turned and walked away briskly, not daring to turn and see her reaction to his leaving.

***

Jon had reluctantly agreed to have Ghost stay in the kennels Lord Royce had looked at him with sympathy as he told Jon that it was the wish of the Lord Paramount of the Vale that the direwolf should not be allowed inside the castle.

“He said to tell you he has no desire to treat with anyone who disrespects the rules of his own household,” Lord Royce added with a sniff. Jon got the impression that Lord Royce was only following orders and did not like Lord Baelish much. It still irritated him though.

Jon needed the army of The Vale if he had even the slightest hope of saving Arya. So, he had agreed through gritted teeth and had told Ghost to go. Ghost, who had been by his side though everything, even by his side when he came back, was now abandoned by him.

He had warged into Ghost in the early hours of the morning, when he was in the small moments of dreaming and waking but the over-whelming feeling of loneliness and sadness had completely jolted him from slumber and he could not be certain if the howl he heard had come from himself or Ghost.

He approached the kennel cage with the piece of rabbit he had paid the cook for. It was nothing really, certainly not for a wolf the size of Ghost. But he hoped it would at least lift his companion’s spirits.

Ghost stared at him as he came to the bars. He had his head on his paws and Jon thought he looked like that helpless little pup he had saved all those years ago.

“I am sorry,” he said, putting his hand through the bar. Ghost blinked but he rose to a stand all the same. “I am doing this to save Arya. You remember Arya, Nymeria’s human?” Ghost whined, whether at his littermates name or Arya’s he wasn’t sure but Jon felt he understood. The wolf came to take the rabbit meat from his hand gently, giving his fingers a small lick as if to say _I understand. I forgive you._

“We’ll be back in Winterfell soon,” Jon said, giving the wolf a scratch behind the ears before taking his leave in order to get ready for the feast.

***

It was a strange thing, to walk into a feast full of important people and not feel unwelcome. In Winterfell, he very rarely sat in the hall, only when it was Ned Stark’s bannerman and not anyone outside the North. Even then, Lady Catelyn’s eyes had been murderous every time he was graced with an invite. Even the times he did attend feasts, he was sat in the corner and nobody acknowledged him save Arya, who often came to sit with him.

But now, as he entered the great hall of the Eyrie, the Lords and Ladies smiled and bowed their heads, murmuring greetings and courtesies. Jon merely nodded in return, feeling completely overwhelmed at their attention. He walked to the long table at the end, where Baelish stood. Beside him was a small, sickly looking boy who looked bored to be here. Jon assumed this was Lord Robert Arryn and he grimaced at the thought of him being Lord of the Vale one day. Jon bowed before them.

“My lords,” he greeted.

“Good evening Lord Snow,” Baelish greeted. Robert merely scowled. “Unfortunately, my daughter cannot be seated at the dais, you understand, of course,” Baelish smirked at him and Jon felt his face flush at the implication but he held his tongue. Baelish gestured to the table closest to the dais and Jon muttered a thank you as he sat down. A servant moved to fill his cup but Jon quickly put his hand over the top.

“No wine for me, please,” he said. He had always been more accustomed to ale and though he had not drunk enough wine last night to have a headache in the morning, he was not going to take the risk of being intoxicated. He felt Baelish’s stare and Jon coughed out his excuse.

“Presenting, Alayne Stone,” the doorman announced suddenly.

She was wearing a blue dress, lighter than the usual southern shades such as the Riverlands. It looked a much more ice colour, a Northern blue. Her neck and shoulders were exposed, the sleeves resting at the top of her arms, below the shoulder. She wore a pendent with a mockingbird on it, no doubt a gift from her father, Jon thought.

Alayne smiled at everyone in the room as they greeted her and her movements were flawless as she made her way to the table. She moved with confidence as if she were born to command a room’s attentions, born to sit at the head table.

_Born to rule._

She took a seat next to him, her hands folded delicately on her lap as she allowed the servant to pour her wine.

“Your dress is pretty,” Jon blurted suddenly. Sansa had once told him to compliment a girl’s name and Alayne seemed to have liked that. He remembered how much Sansa had loved her dresses and hairstyles to be complemented too and hoped Alayne would be pleased. The slight curl of her lips told him that she was indeed happy with his compliment. She turned in her seat so her upper half was leaned towards him. Jon praised his restraint at not looking down.

“Thank you,” she murmured, pressing a gentle hand on his arm. “You look rather handsome yourself.” She removed her hand and smiled at him over the rim of her cup as Jon’s fingers self-consciously traced the black material of his shirt. In truth, it was not a great piece of clothing, he had kept his best shirt for the actual wedding. But her approval had warmed something inside of him.

“Not quite a Princely look I’m afraid,” he joked, trying to distract from the flush raising on his neck from her attentions. She leaned towards him, her hand stroking his wrist like she had last night outside his chambers.

“I have no need for Princes,” she said, her eyes rose from watching her own fingers’ movements to meet his own. Jon sucked in a breath and he was glad when the first course was placed in front of them to distract himself from doing something impulsive such as kissing her.

He tried to focus on the soup in front of him but he was keenly aware of her presence next to him, could smell the rose perfume ( _She smells like Winterfell)_ , and her soft, delicate fingers as they broke the bread on her plate. He could still feel those fingers on his wrist, wanted to feel them there again, wanted to feel them elsewhere.

“I want to dance with Alayne!” Robert shouted suddenly breaking Jon from his thoughts enough to scowl at the boy. The room was silent, the awkwardness filling the air until Alayne laughed, her eyes crinkling at the sides as she regarded Robert Arryn.

“Lord Arryn, you are a tease to the noble women in this room. Fear not my ladies, he is merely shy in asking for your favour.”

The room erupted in laughter, Baelish’s eyes twinkled but Robert’s scowl deepened and he looked as though he was about to have another outburst when the maester came to him, whispering something to him and giving him a cup to drink from.

“Milk of the poppy,” Alayne whispered to him. “He has such awful fits, he barely sleeps.”

Jon said nothing, not trusting himself to remember his manners enough to lie about caring for Lord Arryn’s health. Instead, he watched the torchlight catch in Alayne’s hair, how the light highlighted her porcelain skin. She turned to face him again but before she could speak, a young Lord approached and asked for her hand in a dance.

“Oh,” she blushed, her hand taking his own, causing him to jump at the sudden contact. “You honour me Ser Byron, but my first dance belongs to my betrothed.”

“I fear I would step on your toes,” Jon said honestly, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Alayne’s fingers stroked his hands and she leaned towards him, her breath hitting his ear.

“Well then, I hope you know that every Lord I dance with tonight, I will imagine it is you,” she whispered before flashing a grin and taking Lord Byron’s outstretched hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It annoys me in Season 7 that Jon doesn't even mention Ghost once. He better not abandon him in Season 8 or I'm going to riot lol.  
> And even though Jon is not a bastard, he still has the insecurities of being raised as one, hence his thoughts of 'bastard blood' etc.


	3. Take Me To Church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this really hard to write. Trying to get across that Sansa/Alayne is not heartless and not unaware of the consequences of her plan but also how she is trying to save both herself and Jon. I really hope it came across how Sansa/Alayne is not making this decision lightly.

When she was betrothed to Harry, Petyr had told her to make him hers. She had said that she didn’t know how, and she hadn’t then, not truly.

_Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him._

But she had won Harry around in the end, channelling Alayne who had no dead siblings, no dead father and no notion of how love was a mere dream. Alayne could believe in everything Sansa used to with no cruel smile, no sword taking a head and no hands tearing striping her in front of the Lords that would destroy her dreams. And Alayne had freedom. She had the freedom to use charm and seduction because a bastard was not expected to keep themselves pure like a noble girl. She could entice a man, make him think freely about what it would be like to have her in his bed.

 _A woman’s best weapon is between her legs_.

She had never had cause to think of Cersei, had tried not to because it inevitably led to thinking about Father and how her stupidity had cost so much. But in this case, she had to conclude that Cersei had been right.

She had charmed Harry and bewitched him and just as Petyr predicted, Harry had pledged to send his mistress away and swore fidelity to Alayne if she would honour him and be his wife. She remembered the way his smile had showed his dimples and she could believe he could be in love with her when he had whispered in her hair with genuine admiration.

“You are a magnificent creature.”

Yes, Alayne had indeed learned to bewitch a man. Perhaps she may have been happy with Harry eventually, but just two days before the wedding, Harry had been killed in the jousting tourney in, as Petyr said, an unbelievably, tragic accident. The Knight who had killed him had done a good job of grief and distress, she was scared to think just how much Petyr had paid him for his lies. Nobody could prove otherwise, just like with Lysa Tully. And she had genuinely mourned for Harry but Petyr had used that to his advantage to stop the suspicion falling on him.

Petyr had called her to his solar a week later and told her in hushed whispers not to worry, that a better match had arisen.

“Jon Snow, the bastard of Eddard Stark. Though it seems he is no bastard at all but the true-born son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.”

“You wish for me to marry Jon Snow?” she had repeated in disbelief. _How fitting is it now that you were called Lady Lannister?_

“Jon Targaryen, it would seem. A better match in all aspects. He is rightful heir to the Iron Throne after all.”

“Jon won’t care for the throne,” she had said without thinking. Petyr had given her a pointed look.

 _I am Alayne._ The thought played over and over in her head. She must be Alayne at all times.

“I simply hear that he is a modest man,” she said. Petyr raised an eyebrow as he took her hand and guided her to sit on his lap.

“I was not aware there had been so much rumour about a man who was a mere bastard in the North just a few days ago.”

She had recognised the warning and had flushed scarlet at her stupidity. He had kissed her forehead, and then moved his lips to her ear.

“Do you remember what I told you once?” he had whispered. “Who must you be at all times?” She had responded instantly.

“I am Alayne, father. Who else would I be?”

He had squeezed her hand and continued. “It would be suspicious to go straight into another betrothal. A couple of weeks will be enough, given the amount of time you knew Harry.”

He proceeded to tell her how he planned to wait for Jon Snow to gather the Northern forces but knew that Jon would not be able to gather enough in the North to fight Ramsay. Robb Stark had taken the bulk of men to war with him and they had been killed at The Twins. Petyr had said that he would write to Jon Snow and offer the Knights of the Vale to his quest to save Arya Stark in exchange for her hand in marriage. He had then told her that it was actually Jeyne Poole who had married Ramsay.

“Of course, we didn’t know that,” he smiled at her. She had simply nodded and he had dismissed her. The unspoken command following her out of the room.

Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him.

 _You must do it._ She had thought of poor Harry then. _Look what happens to people Petyr has no more need of._

_***_

She could feel Jon’s stare on her as she was spun around in the arms of Lord Andrew Tollet. Her cheeks were flushed and hurt from her laughter when she finally managed to pry herself away from the dance floor.

“I fear my betrothed is feeling rejected, my lords,” she said sweetly before coming to sit beside Jon again and taking a gulp of wine. When she glanced at Jon over the rim of her cup, the intensity of his stare made her stomach flutter. _Gods, he is like a wolf._ She was thankful her cheeks were already flushed from the dancing so she could hide her thoughts. She caught Petyr’s look.

_Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him._

“I fear I am so tired from all that dancing,” she cooed, pressing her hand to his arm. “I think I will retire for the evening. Would you escort me to my chambers, Jon?”

He nodded and offered her his arm as he led her out of the room. Her chambers were not far from the hall but it felt like an eternity as she felt the tension radiating between them. She turned to him as they came to her door ready to bid him goodnight.

“I never cared much for dancing,” he said suddenly, his voice low. “But I’ve been watching you dance with all these Lords and must admit I am severely jealous.” She laughed and leaned over to him.

“I imagine they are more jealous of you,” she murmured. He frowned in confusion. She let him wait a few seconds before continuing. “After all, two days from now you’ll have something they’ll never have – me, in your bed.”

His mouth was on hers before she could add a charming smile to her words, his body pushing her own against her door as his hands cupped her face. Her own hands moved across his body, one snaking past his hip to rest at the small of his back, the other curling around his shoulder to pull him closer.

_Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him._

She had never been kissed like this before. The lust was still there that had been there from all her kisses, the curse of a pretty face that men just wanted to add to their list of conquests. But there was also a promise of pleasure as Jon swiped his tongue across her lips, begging her to open them. Instead she broke the kiss, her chest heaving and she looked up at him through her eyelashes.  His eyes were almost black, just a small bit of grey still noticeable and his lips looked as swollen as hers felt. She took his hand in one of her own. The other moved to the handle of her door.

She had needed to do this, she told herself. If Jon did not seem as though he was going to bed her, he would be of no use to Petyr’s plan.

_Look at what happens to people that Petyr has no need of._

Jon swallowed as the door to her chambers opened. She could see the battle raging in his mind between his clear desire for her and the honour he wanted to uphold. He squeezed her hand as she moved backwards into her room, not breaking eye contact. Jon stilled, his other hand coming to clasp their entwined ones.

“No,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I want to wait for the wedding night.”

“Will two days make a difference?” she asked softly, stepping closer to him and tilting her face up invitingly. Jon glanced at her lips and for a moment, she thought she had him. But he stepped back.

“Please,” he said. “I want to do this right. It would mean a lot to me if we could wait.”

“Oh,” she said, biting back a laugh at her stupidity for not realising. “You’ve never lain with a woman. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

Jon flushed. “I have,” he said. She raised an eyebrow in surprise. When would Jon have managed to bed a woman? Before he went to the Nights Watch? He had gone to the brothel a few times with Robb and Theon right enough.

“Oh. I thought maybe we would be matched on our wedding night,” she laughed. “But I suppose it is better one of us knows what they are doing.”

 “It is just,” he glanced away for a moment, trying to think of how to say what he needed to. “I never thought I would have a wife. And now that I am to be married, I want to do it right. I know it is probably laughable to you but …”

He didn’t finish the sentence as she grabbed his shirt and pulled his mouth to hers again. But before he could react, she had broken it again.

“Thank you,” she whispered. He blinked and she cupped his cheek as she smiled. _Thank you for reminding me there is some good in this world._ That was what she wanted to say but instead she said. “Thank you for being honest.”

He smiled so brightly that it reached his eyes and she was struck at how it pulled at her heart. When had she ever seen Jon smile like that?

_I am Alayne._

“I want us to be honest. I want us to have an honest marriage,” he replied. She said nothing, trying not to look guilty.

_I have already broken that promise before we even wed._

“Goodnight,” Jon said after a moment. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek before departing her room. She let out a sigh as he closed the door behind him and kicked off her shoes. She caught her reflection in the mirror and frowned. Her lips were swollen and her hair had fallen out of place when she had been pushed against the door. She looked positively dishevelled, like a wanton bastard girl should look after being kissed so thoroughly.

_I am Alayne._

The shame rose and she managed to bite back a sob, a hand covering her mouth as she continued to stare at her reflection. Jon was just another innocent bystander in this game but his piece was being moved across the board just the same. She knew that when the truth came out that Jon would be hurt and angry, may never want anything to do with her again. It was a horrible thing to think of and the thought of doing something so horrible to Jon made her gut churn with guilt and shame. But she also knew that she had to bed Jon in order to keep him alive.

_Look what happens to people who Petyr has no need of._

And she needed Petyr to believe Jon was falling into his trap, had to believe it was all going according to his plan so that he did not realise that she was making her own.

_I am Alayne._

Her hair glinted red like copper in the torchlight. The wind outside carried the howl of a wolf.

_Who else would I be?_

***

She had insisted on being married in the sept. Alayne was raised on the New Gods she reminded Petyr, feigning surprise that he would mistake such an important thing. In truth, she was backing him into a corner. He had wanted the wedding to take place in the Godswood, had wanted to make sure it happened in front of Jon’s own gods so that he could not denounce it later when she reveals herself. She had known his plan and had made sure to stop it in his tracks, wanting to offer Jon the little comfort of knowing he could face his own gods without sin. She had heard that the North could reject marriages made in a sept if the Lord husband willed it.

“We will redo our vows at Winterfell,” she insisted, knowing she had no intention of doing so. It did little to ease her guilt as she thought more and more of how broken Jon would be to find out who she really was. _And he won’t even have Arya at the end of it all._

Petyr had had no choice but to agree and she felt a thrill at the fact she had managed to thwart his plans. She intended to prevent his other plans too, such as his plans for him to continue Jon’s shame by insisting she get with child as soon as possible. He had demanded to know her cycles so he and the maester could time the wedding at the best time for her to conceive. She had said nothing, letting him think that she was accepting his terms but she had later sought out Mya and asked her to request moon tea from the maester. She would not allow Petyr to control Jon through shaming him. Petyr knew it was not a guarantee she would conceive on the wedding night so she could get away with her rebellion long enough to reach Winterfell.

She was walking down the corridor to her chambers to put the last touches to her wedding dress when Jon rounded the corner. He stopped when she saw her, a small smile coming to his face.

“Hello,” he said. She smiled back and moved towards him.

“Were you looking for me?” she asked.

“No, I was actually going back to my own chambers before going down to see Ghost,” he replied and his smile dropped a little at the mention of his direwolf. She felt the guilt creep up on her again. A wolf should not be caged like that.

“I’m sorry.”

“It is not your fault,” he said, taking her hand.

_Oh but it is.  Ghost cannot see me until this is done. Petyr would never take the chance of Ghost recognising me as a Stark._

“Would you like to meet him?” Jon asked suddenly. She forced a smile, hoping that he could not see the sadness and longing in it.

_Yes, of course I want to see him._

“I would love to,” she replied, squeezing his hand. “But unfortunately, I must finish my dress for tomorrow.”

He nodded in understanding and took his hand from hers. He raised it to her cheek before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Alayne,” he said as he withdrew, giving her hand a quick kiss. She watched him go and she could feel the guilt spreading all the way through her. Jon was too good, too kind. He was a man she would have dreamed of marrying once.

_I am Alayne._

She could feel the tears threatening to spill and she quickly entered her chambers before anyone could see her distress. She leaned back against the wood, taking a deep breath. She had to be brave, she had to be strong.

_Look what happens to people who Petyr has no need of._

 

***

Myranda placed a hand on her shoulder, jolting her from her thoughts.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded, taking a deep breath as she stood up, smoothing down her dress. It was a soft white on the top with the skirts fading into a soft grey, her small act of rebellion. Myranda smiled at her, placing the mockingbird pendent around her neck.

“It is natural to be nervous on your wedding day my dear. But he seems a good man at least.”

“He is,” she replied as they left the room and walked towards the sept. _A good man who deserves better than a girl like me._

Petyr was waiting outside the sept doors, the maiden cloak draped across his arm, ready for him to attach to her shoulders.  She had been surprised that she would wear his colours, being a bastard but Petyr had said that bastards can use the sigils of their parents houses with permission, or if they were acknowledged. And so, she was to wear the colours of House Baelish.

“Alayne, you look radiant,” Petyr declared, kissing her cheek as he fastened her maiden cloak to her shoulders.

“Thank you, father,” she replied, smiling brightly at him.

_Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him._

He had meant those words with the intention of her doing so with Harry and now with Jon. But Petyr was also a man and she had realised over the years that she could use his own words against him.

_Let him think he has me. When I am back in Winterfell, he will regret keeping this wolf caged._

Her breath caught as she regarded Jon on the dais. He looked incredibly handsome in the Northern leathers and black shirt. But it was the direwolf cloak that had caused her heart to skip a beat. Jon had decided to forsake his true-born name of Targaryen in favour of House Stark. Even now, Jon was loyal to House Stark and she tried not to think of that eleven-year-old girl who had shown no such loyalty or even interest in it.

Jon stepped forward to take the hand Petyr offered out to him. His lips curled up slightly, a sweet flush covering his cheeks. She found his nervousness endearing and couldn’t help but smile back at him as they took the steps to the dais. He unclasped the maiden’s cloak, letting it fall to the floor and then the direwolf cloak was attached and she felt the ghost of Sansa Stark stir but for once, she did not correct herself.

Her heart hammered the whole time as she recited the words, her eyes focusing on the wall behind the septon. Jon’s hand in hers was as comforting as it was distressing. She tried not to think about how kind Jon was and how he would be distraught at her deception.

_He deserves better than a girl like me._

She felt Petyr’s gaze burning into her neck and she finally slid her own gaze to meet his. Petyr smirked at her, his eyes gleaming in triumph and she took a sharp intake of breath at the sight. Jon’s thumb stroked the back of her hand causing her to look down at it for a second in confusion before raising her eyes to meet Jon’s grey stare. There was a frown between his eyes as he regarded her with concern. She gave a small giggle, squeezing his hand in a pretense of nervous excitement and the frown disappeared, replaced with half a smile. Just as the Septon decreed that they were wed.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” they said at the same time and then Jon stepped towards her, his hands grasping her cheeks as he placed a kiss upon her lips. She smiled at him, hoping that he would take the tears forming in her eyes as a sign of uncontrollable joy rather than the guilt and shame of what she was doing.

Jon led her down the dais as the guests gave them their congratulations. She turned to look at Petyr again as they passed through the doors. He was no longer smirking but his stare was dark as it bore into Jon’s back.

_Look what happens to people Petyr has no need of._

She turned away again, forcing herself to smile at their well-wishers and pressing herself closer to Jon’s side. Her free hand came to the clasp that held the direwolf cloak to her, as if she could draw strength from the wolf itself.

_My skin has turned from porcelain, to ivory, to steel._


	4. In this twilight, our choices seal our fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I rewrote this a dozen times haha. At one point I had Petyr find the moon tea and destroy it but then I felt like BookPetyr is so much more subtle (show Petyr is so undermined, I think people forgot what a mastermind he is). He wouldn't let on he knew anything but would change his plans. So I went back to him not knowing she's taken moon tea. I also battled about whether she should tell Jon that it isn't Arya in Winterfell but decided against that too. Because this is Game of Thrones and you should be used to shit hitting the fan by now haha (no really, there are reasons though, the same reasons why she doesn't tell him who she is... yet)  
> Also, a reminder that this is mostly book speculation so characters that are in the book are going to start turning up soon. As in, the next chapter.

Jon had stated there was to be no bedding ceremony and Petyr had, to her surprise, agreed. She had not questioned him, was too grateful that she was to be spared the ordeal. She knew it was tradition but she was already feeling guilty enough about what she was doing to Jon, without the added shame he would inevitably feel if there were to be witnesses to the deed.

She had retired from the feast early with Jon supposed to be joining her later. She was still fully dressed with her back to the door, staring out of her window when she heard the door open. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and she could barely control her breathing as she saw Petyr’s reflection appear beside her. Now, she wished there had been a bedding. She would rather ten lords stripped her and left her with Jon than have Petyr in her chambers alone with her.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and she tensed. The touch lingered and she forced herself to look at his eyes in the glass. For a moment, he just stared at her and the smell of mint was starting to over-powering her, making it impossible to calm her nerves. Petyr could undoubtedly feel her pulse, feel the tension in her body but he gave no indication of her discomfort.

“I promised you that we would reclaim Winterfell didn’t I?” he murmured into her hair, his lips so close to her ear that she had to restrain herself from squirming. Instead, she blinked up in an act of innocent confusion.

“I am Alayne, father. I have never been to Winterfell,” she said behind a biting smile. Petyr laughed, his gaze never leaving their reflections as his hand began twisting through her hair, unpinning the braids from the top of her head and letting one fall over each of her shoulders. She sucked in a breath, her head instinctively turning towards the door as if urging someone to come through it. The scene was too intimate, more so than all the times he had ever made her sit on his lap or even forced a kiss from her.

“You were never really Alayne, my dear,” he whispered as he began to untwist her braids, letting her hair hang loose. He stared at their reflection again, his hands still too familiar on her shoulder.

“Before long, Jon will be King and you will be his Queen. Winterfell will belong to the Starks once more and you will be Lady of Winterfell.” He pulled her flush against him, his lips pressing against her ear. “You will be the most powerful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. And a son will secure your position as Queen.”

She felt as though the blood had drained from her. It was never about shaming Jon, controlling him and the North through her marriage to him and the children they may have. Petyr was planning in the long term. It didn’t matter if it was the North or the whole Seven Kingdoms, but if anything happened to Jon that meant that she, being his only kin, would be regent over any children they had until they reached age to rule. She would be in a position of upmost power.

And a widow.

How could she have thought it was about something so simple as shaming Jon and controlling him? She had thought Jon was only in danger if she didn’t get him to bed her. Now, she realised it didn’t seem to matter what she did. If she didn’t bed Jon, Petyr would kill him off soon, perhaps at the Battle for Winterfell, a perfect opportunity for an accident. She supposed then Petyr would settle for just taking Sansa’s claim of Winterfell by marrying her himself. Even if he killed Jon, there were still ways to force her to comply. He could threaten Jeyne or SweetRobin, even her Uncle Edmure in the Riverlands.

But while she didn’t doubt Petyr would settle for Winterfell if needs be, she knew his ambition was higher. And if Jon did bed her, Petyr would wait for a son, perhaps two to be on the safe side, in order to secure her position as Queen Regent.

The door opened again and Petyr stepped back flawlessly just as Mya and Myranda stepped into the room, the latter closing the door behind her as she grinned. “We are here to help you get ready Alayne.”

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Petyr said with a bow before moving out of the door. Mya closed it behind him and then moved to the bed where the night shift was laid out ready. Myranda came up to her, turning her around to start untying the laces at the back of her dress while telling Alayne to slip her shoes off.

“Maybe leave your stockings on though,” she said with a wink and a nudge to her shoulder.

“What?” she replied in genuine confusion. Myranda rolled her eyes and chuckled a little.

“Never mind.”

All too quickly, they had changed her into her shift and were leaving her alone once again. She paced the room, wondering what she should do. She remembered her wedding night to Tyrion, lying beside him and wondering when she should open her legs. She bit back a bitter laugh as she realised this was just another thing that she had never learned.  She had decided to sit on the edge of the bed, walking towards it when the door slowly opened and she looked up. Jon was in the doorway, still holding on to the edge of the door, an endearing shyness to him. His eyes met hers and that small half smile appeared as he stepped into the room, softly closing the door behind him.

“Alayne,” he said, his gaze so intense that she had to turn back to the window to avoid it. She felt Jon step up behind her, saw his reflection in the window much like Petyr had. Yet, unlike Petyr, it didn’t frighten her. But she did tense when Jon placed his left hand on her shoulder, the right came to rest on her hip.

“Alayne,” he whispered again, placing a kiss to the crown of her hair. She felt him turn her gently to face him and she forced her eyes to meet his. He took her hands in his, giving them a soft kiss. “Are you afraid?”

“Not afraid,” she answered honestly.

_Ashamed and guilty. Feeling incredibly stupid for not realising sooner that it was never going to be this simple with Petyr. Disappointed that I can’t protect you._

“Nervous,” she finally added in response to Jon’s continued questioning gaze. Unable to stand his gaze, she reached up and unclasped the cloak from her back and the loss made her feel as though she was already naked. He must have felt her sharp intake of breath as he slowly tipped her chin up and kissed her lips softly.

“I’ll be gentle,” he said. And she laughed before she could help it. Jon blinked, confused about her reaction and she tried to get her composure. How many men would say they wouldn’t hurt her? And of course, maybe it wouldn’t be intentional on their part to hurt her, but she knew maids most often did feel pain their first time regardless. And trust Jon to be so painfully forth-right and honest about it, so much like father, so much like a Stark.

“You’re definitely a Stark,” she said in response to his continued confusion before she cupped his cheeks and kissed him. His hands moved to her hips, pulling her closer to him and she broke the kiss, her forehead resting against his as she felt a hand travel up laces at the front of her shift.

He pulled them loose, pushing the material aside gently, exposing her breasts. She moved her hands to his jerkin, trying to distract from her embarrassment at being exposed by undressing him too. But Jon was making it difficult to concentrate as he kept trying to kiss her again. She finally managed to push his jerkin off, letting it fall to the floor and then hitched the black shirt up before she could think about it. She stopped, her eyes widening at the scars that littered his torso and chest.

“Alayne, don’t …” he began pleadingly, his hands grabbing hers and making the shirt fall again. Her fingers traced the material where she had seen the scar over his heart.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jon replied, moving to kiss her again but she turned her head away, frowning up at him.

“Doesn’t matter?” she repeated in disbelief, before remembering her state of undress. She pulled the material of her shift over her breasts roughly before continuing. “Jon, it looks as though you’ve been stabbed several times!”

“It is far too long a story to explain,” he said with a huff of breath. She arched a brow at him.

“Are you intending to bed me all night that we have little time to talk in between?”

Jon flushed and spluttered a bit. Her fingers traced the shirt that covered the scar over his heart again as she continued.

“You said you wanted an honest marriage,” she reminded him, hating herself for the use of his own words against him. Still, she had to know who had hurt him and why. She heard him sigh in annoyance, whether at her insistence or at the use of his own words she wasn’t sure but he took her hand and led them to the edge of the bed to sit.

“I suppose the short version is that I helped Wildlings by letting them through The Wall. My brothers did not agree with my decision and they lured me out into the yard where they stabbed me multiple times.”

“Oh, Jon!” she said sadly, hugging him before she could help herself. She let her hands curl in his hair, kissed his temple as she pulled him close. He gave a startled laugh, gently pushing away but their hands were still clasped.

“Can we forget about it?” he asked softly, pressing his forehead to hers. She wanted to say no, wanted to know about everyone who had hurt him. But he had taken her silence for agreement. He leaned forward, kissing her again like he had that night he had escorted her to her chambers and she allowed him to move her on to her back upon the furs. She moaned before she could stop herself, felling a thrill at the one he gave in return. His hand moved to her shift again, pushing the material aside once more.

She broke the kiss with a gasp, frowning in confusion as his hand cupped her right breast. Jon seemed not to notice, trailing kisses along her jaw and down her neck instead as he exposed her other breast.

“Jon,” she gasped, squirming against his touch. Jon hummed but his mouth continued down until he was closing his lips around her nipple. “Jon. This… This isn’t…!”

This was nothing like what she had been told about marriage. She had barely known when to spread her legs for Tyrion, much less whatever Jon was doing. He moved back to her neck, his hand squeezing her breast slowly.

“Do you not like it?” he asked, his breath across her neck making her shiver.

“I do,” she replied honestly. “But don’t you… put it…?” she trailed off with a blush and she could feel Jon’s grin against her cheek. She swatted his shoulder and he laughed, giving her cheek a soft kiss.

“I do,” he agreed to her unfinished question, still smiling against her cheek. “But I would prefer for you to be ready.”

She frowned, about to reply that she was already on her back and all he had to do was hitch her shift up and they could start. But the thought left her mind almost immediately as Jon had returned his mouth to her breast, the thumb of his hand tracing the other. She arched up against him, turning her head into the pillow against the sensations.

She snapped out of her pleasure as she felt Jon’s free hand fall to her thigh, pulling it back to open her legs to him. She tensed against the feel and then Jon was in her vision again, the hand on her breast had moved to her cheek, turning her face towards him as he kissed her again.

“I want to touch you,” he whispered. “Can I?”

She should say no. Should insist they continue the bedding as quickly as possible, the way she had expected it to happen. But that selfish part of her wanted to feel more of the pleasure that was promised in Jon’s voice, the curious part of her wanted to know what he was doing so she simply nodded. But as his hand travelled up her thigh and under her shift, she grabbed his wrist suddenly.

“Wait! Can we… can you blow the candles out?” she asked, blushing. Jon’s eyes met hers for a moment but he nodded, accepting her embarrassment without question and moving to put out the lanterns by the bed, casting them both into darkness. It was partly embarrassment she could admit. Because although she was enjoying what Jon was doing, it went against everything she had been told about the marriage bed and thinking about what her septa would say made her cheeks flush. But it was also to ensure that he couldn’t see the red hair that she couldn’t disguise.

He returned to the bed, taking the same position that he had before he had left. She gasped at the feel of his finger on her, her hips bucking up of their own accord. She heard his breath escape in a small huff, sounding as though he was in awe of her. The feeling of his finger entering her, the feel of his intense gaze caused her cheeks to flush. It felt good. She wanted, she wanted…

_No. No. No._

“Jon, stop!” she choked out, even as her hips moved against him in defiance of her words. But he did stop and those eyes were watching her again. She could picture the frown as she pushed at his wrist to get him to back away.

“Please,” she whispered, choking over the words. Gods she wanted him to touch her. She wanted to know all manner of things he wanted to do in their bed. She wanted to see Jon’s smile and have his eyes on her like this all the time, making her feel powerful and beautiful and _loved._

_Nobody will ever marry me for love._

But this wasn’t a true marriage and would never be one. Jon had married _Alayne_ , was falling for _Alayne_. But she wasn’t, and had never truly been Alayne. The sooner she stopped wearing the mask, the better. She had to let that girl go, much like she had let Sansa Stark go all those months ago if she hoped to keep what was left of her heart in one piece.

Jon seemed to understand the command she left unspoken, to just get the deed over. He stood at the side of the bed, removing his shirt and pushing his breeches down. He kissed her again, slowly, tenderly and that selfish part of her let him.

_Nobody will ever marry me for love. But let me have this moment._

It did pinch when he entered her but he kept his promise to be gentle, moving slowly. His breath ghosted across her neck before his mouth moved to her own to kiss her again. And despite it not being an extraordinary experience, she felt safe, she felt a tiny glimmer of happiness and for that alone, she wished she could freeze this moment forever.

***

When she woke, the dull light of the early morning was streaming across the room. In her half-asleep state, it took a moment to register their positions. She was on her side, her back to Jon’s chest and his arm curled around her hip. His breath was steady on her neck and for a moment, she forgot how they ended up here, like this. It felt like something her mother and father would have done, wake up in each other’s arms.

She felt Jon’s hand squeeze her hip before pulling her closer to him. His lips left a soft trail on her neck as his hand slid over her thigh.

“Are you awake?” he whispered, his voice husky from sleep and desire. She contemplated turning over and meeting his lips. Jon was going to war, probably thought this could be the last time he would see his wife, probably the last time he would make love to her. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it even though she was realising that she _wanted_ him.

“I am a little sore,” she lied instead, knowing Jon wouldn’t continue if she was uncomfortable. As she predicted, Jon’s hand stopped immediately. “I’m sorry,” she added but he just kissed her softly.

“It doesn’t matter sweetheart,” he murmured just as there was a knock at the door. It distracted Jon enough that he did not notice her frown at his endearment. For so long, she had not thought that anyone would marry her for love, had left those girlish dreams behind. But now she was realising that maybe, in different circumstances, she and Jon _could_ have had the loving marriage that her parents had had. But he would never love her now, when she tells him who she is, what she had known and tricked him into. She bit back her tears as she quickly stood from the bed and disappeared behind her screen to dress before Jon could see her distress.

***

She was watching the men prepare to depart when she became aware of being watched. Turning her head to the side, she could see Jon talking to the kennel master but it was the red eyes of Ghost that were trained on her. She could hardly stop the choked sob from escaping her, the happiness at seeing him so well filled her with joy. She wondered how large Lady would have grown to be in comparison. She almost forgot herself, making to move to the wolf before she stopped herself. But Ghost had no such caution, bounding towards her and nudging into her side, circling her like a cat at her ankles.

“Oh, you beautiful, wonderful boy!” she cooed, scratching his neck and rubbing his head. Ghost licked her hand and then looked behind him. She followed his gaze to find Jon staring in bewilderment. In fact, most of the group were looking on in astonishment. She was thankful that Petyr was in the stables still. Despite his speech about her not truly being Alayne, he still expected her to play the part until the time was right. _For him._ She smiled innocently at the crowd, giving a loud, charming laugh. She saw Lord Royce shake his head slightly, with the hint of a disbelieving smile.

_But the right time is almost now for me._

“He must know of my affection for you,” Jon said shyly, almost as if he was asking permission to be attracted to his wife.

_Alayne is his wife._

She forced a smile, thankful Ghost was here to take her attention so she wouldn’t give herself away. She looked over to the path that led to the stables. She didn’t have much time before Petyr returned. Thankfully, SweetRobin chose that moment to appear, giving her a chance to lie her way to her goal.

“I’m sorry Jon, I think Robert is going to have a tantrum. Give me a minute, I don’t want him to ruin our goodbye.”

Jon simply nodded and let her pass, taking over her petting of Ghost. She crossed to the courtyard quickly, giving Robert a bright smile and bidding him good morning before turning her attention to the person she truly wanted to speak with.

“Lord Royce,” she stated. He turned from his horse, blinking in surprise at seeing her there.

“Lady Alayne,” he responded with a slight incline of his head. She felt her heart hammering in her chest. This was a dangerous gamble she knew but there was little else she could think to do to beat Petyr’s plans. Petyr was watching Jon closely, looking for the opportunity to kill him as soon as he became useless. Telling Jon now, before they were safe behind Winterfells walls with their own people was risking his life. But she had been watching the other lords, watching who seemed to distrust Baelish and weighing it against what she knew about them. Lord Royce was her best chance of an ally.

“Can I speak with you?” she glanced towards the stables nervously.

“What can I do for you my…?”

“Over here,” she cut him off, moving slowly towards the edge of the courtyard. She was hidden from view here but could still see the path towards the stables that would allow her to see Petyr coming. She took a deep breath and stood tall.

“Lord Royce, you were here when Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark were fostered here, correct?”

“Indeed,” he responded with knitted eyebrows, no doubt wondering what a bastard girl would care about the late King and Lord of Winterfell.

“And what was your opinion of Eddard Stark?” she pressed, eyes still darting to the stables.

“Shouldn’t you ask your husband for his opinion on the late Lord Stark? I’m sure he could tell you more than I.”

She resisted the urge to sigh in annoyance. This wasn’t going to plan at all. She closed her eyes briefly, steeling herself. _Go in for the kill, like a wolf._

“My name is not Alayne,” she said, opening her eyes to meet his. “It is Sansa Stark, eldest daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark.”

He blinked once, twice before stepping back. “Sansa Stark?” he choked out.

“Lord Baelish took me from Kings Landing,” she continued quickly, barely stopping for breath. “He brought me here, dyed my hair and told me to pose as his daughter. But he …” And, she took a second to register the irony of Cersei’s lessons once again coming to her aid. She forced herself to tense, forced the tears out. “He made …he made me…” She pressed a hand to her mouth and turned away with a choked sob. She let the silence linger, knew Lord Royce was imaging all manner of things that Petyr Baelish had made sweet Sansa Stark do.

“That utter weasel of a man,” Royce hissed. She turned quickly, grabbing his arm.

“Please, Lord Royce,” she hissed. “You must not challenge him here. He…the marriage with Jon and I… Jon doesn’t know. I had to lie to him because Petyr will kill him otherwise. And he controls Robert Arryn, you know he does and if anything happens to Baelish, Robert will order your death before you even get across the courtyard!”

Royce frowned, looking towards the stables for a long moment before looking back to her. She waited, praying to Gods she didn’t believe in any longer for him to comply. Otherwise it was all for nothing. Finally, he nodded. She released a breath and gave a small curtsy.

“I thank you my Lord,” she whispered before giving a cool smile. “And do not worry. Petyr has left me here with Robert. I will work on him while you keep an eye on Petyr. When we are all in Winterfell, I will meet with you again.”

She strode back to Jon just as Petyr emerged into the courtyard. She could feel his eyes following her as she quickly approached Jon, who was now attending to his own horse. He turned as he heard her approach, giving her a soft smile and taking her hand. She smiled back, leaning forward to kiss his cheek.

“Be careful,” she whispered. Jon nodded, nuzzling her nose with his.

“I will write when it is safe for you to come to Winterfell,” he replied, before kissing her mouth. She let themselves get carried away, opened her mouth to him and letting his arms encircle her waist as hers looped around his neck. Jon was kissing her as though he thought it may be the last time.

She kissed him back because she knew it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, my friend who has joined me in Jonsa-land is just reading the books for the first time and she goes "Hey Debs, there is this bit in Storm of Swords when Ygritte and Jon are talking about this guy and she says he is like her brother and asks Jon if he would bed his sister. And all he replies is 'he's not really your brother though'. I swear the pair of us were totally squealing at this as though it was a sure hint. Although, we know its Asoiaf, so we should not expect this happiness. But dammit let me have this head canon among this angst! haha


	5. You don't have to run and hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book characters, book characters everywhere! (well, one. But whatever :p)

“What is that?” she asked, noticing the letter that the maester had handed Robert as they were breaking their fast. The maester gave her a disapproving look.

“A letter arrived for your husband, Lady Alayne.”

She glanced at it again, noting the stag and red heart stamp. _Stannis. Has he found Jeyne? Has he attacked the Boltons at Winterfell himself?_ She held her hand out to Robert, wordlessly asking for the letter. He scowled at her.

“I am Lord of the Vale,” he screeched and she had to force herself to take a breath in order to calm herself. She had thought manipulating Robert would be easy but she was finding it was patience that was the hardest part of this particular plan. Petyr always had patience and she must too if she ever had a hope of beating him.

“Forgive me,” she replied meekly. “I only want to know if my husband is well.” That was at least true as she was very worried for Jon. It had only been two days since the men had departed and would be at least another week before they arrived at Winterfell for the battle. She had heard awful things about Ramsay Bolton though, what he did with his hounds and how he played games with his victims. She just hoped that Jon would be smart enough to not be goaded by the man.

“It is from Stannis,” Robert said unnecessarily. “Says he has found the turncloak and Jon’s sister, Arya. He was going to send them to him at The Wall but he has heard that he is here and marrying you. So, he is sending them here instead.”

 “Does he say he will help in the battle for Winterfell?” she asked. Robert shook his head, already bored with the letter and he threw it across the table in the direction of the maester, who hastily picked it up, bowed and retreated from the hall.

“If Jon dies will we be married?” Robert asked suddenly.

“Don’t speak about Jon dying,” she snapped before she could control herself. Robert turned to her with a scowl.

“I wanted to marry you. I told you I would!”

“And I told you that you deserved better,” she countered, managing to bring her voice down to a soothing tone.

She once remembered a wild boy with auburn curls running with a black shadow of a wolf by his side, tamed only by a mother’s words and embraces. Robert was not Rickon, she knew. Rickon had been wild rather than petulant and Catelyn had managed to soothe him more often than not but Robert was spoilt and didn’t understand that he couldn’t have what he wanted all the time now that Lysa was dead.

She waited for a moment, letting his anger seep away before she sat back in her chair with a casual. “And besides, I must do what Father commands.”

“Petyr told you to marry Jon?” Robert asked after a moment. She raised her eyebrows, feigning innocence.

“Of course. Did you not know my father wrote to him and offered my hand in exchange for the Vale’s armies?”

“No,” Robert said with a huff. “He said that Jon had asked for your hand.”

Petyr liked half-truths. Telling people just enough that he was seen to be helpful and loyal but not enough so that his plans could change without the accusations of traitorous intentions. She had thought that Petyr would do this, deliberately rile Robert up against Jon to cause chaos between the Vale and the North. Perhaps he wanted Robert to order Jon killed, she mused. That was also very much like him, getting somebody else to do his dirty work while moving to collect the spoils himself. Hadn’t he done that with Joffrey’s murder and claimed Sansa Stark as a reward?

“Well, I fear he has lied to one of us,” she said as she stood and curtseyed. “It wouldn’t be the first time he has lied to me, my lord. So, I am sure he is loyal to you still.”

_Let the seed of doubt be planted. I’ll watch it grow until the roots of Petyr’s deception are laid bare for all to see._

She turned to leave before she could see Robert’s reaction. She knew it was horrible to manipulate Robert as he was just a child. But Bran and Rickon and even Arya had been children when they had been killed or had disappeared. She was doing this for them, for the memory of them. And Jon, she had to protect Jon too. He was all she had left of home.

_Stone and snow, that is all that was left of Winterfell._

***

The days crept on and she tried hard not to think about the upcoming battle in the North. It would be any day now and the thought was making her stomach churn. She tried to occupy herself to stop herself thinking the worst. But every night she would dream of Jon on the battlefield. He would always die in some way, either by Ramsay’s arrow or a sword in the back. Ghost would be killed too. Sometimes, in her worst nightmares, Ramsay kept man and wolf alive long enough to skin them together. She would always wake to Ramsay’s cruel laugh ringing in her ears and tears staining her pillow. She had never met Ramsay, had conjured his image from the little things she knew of him. But after these dreams, she often woke with the briefest urge to kill him herself. What little she had heard of what he had done to Jeyne was awful, so bad that it woke a rage inside her that she didn’t recognise. The thought of him hurting Jon and Ghost made her want to watch him choke and bleed.

She would walk in the godswood but found that she could not pray. Her focus was all over the place and she could only manage a ‘please don’t let him die’ amongst her troubled thoughts. But she had once thought that Robb would defeat their enemies and the Gods had not granted her prayers then. She would spend days in the library, trying to read but unable to concentrate as the unknown continued to taunt her thoughts.

“So,” Myranda began in way of greeting, sliding next to her on the window seat. “You haven’t shared the details.”

“Of what?” she asked lightly, eyes fixed on the book in front of her despite not actually reading it anymore. It was meaning that she didn’t have to look at Myranda’s gleaming eyes and devilish smile though.

“Oh, don’t play coy now, girl. I’m curious about your handsome husband. Is he more wolf or dragon in bed?”

She snapped the book shut and glared at Myranda. She didn’t know why it bothered her but she didn’t like Jon being spoken about in such a way. He had treated her with respect and with tenderness on their wedding night, the way she had always dreamed her husband would treat her ( _and then some more!)_. To have his bedroom habits discussed would mortify him, she was sure.

“I don’t feel comfortable discussing my husband like this,” she said. Myranda blinked in shock at her tone. Alayne Stone was always so well-mannered. But then her lips curved in a smirk.

“You love him already!”

“I am being a dutiful wife and keeping his private life private,” she returned completely ignoring her friend’s words. But Myranda wasn’t giving up.

“What did he do that has you falling for him already? Did he go on his knees and kiss your cu…”

“My lady, two guests have arrived.”

 “Jeyne?” she asked as she whirled around to meet the guard in the doorway. But then she thought that it was still too soon for her to arrive.

“Yes,” he said with a hint of confusion before he continued. “She begs the protection of the Vale. They have been brought to Lord Arryn.”

She frowned. That didn’t sound right. Stannis had said he was sending them here so why would Jeyne need to be protected by the Vale if she was already being sent here? And why was the guard so confused that she knew her guests’ name? He must have known about the upcoming arrivals.

“Very well,” she said, smoothing down her skirts. “I will come to the hall as well to greet them.”

“My lady,” he said, bowing and waiting for her to step out of the room before they walked to the Great Hall. She heard Myranda following them, her friend’s curiosity clearly too much for her to ignore.

She stopped short in the doorway to the hall when she saw the guests. She could only see their backs but she could tell that this was not Jeyne and Theon. The man was taller and leaner than Theon with short grey hair and the girl, while trembling slightly, was not in near enough state to what she imagined Jeyne would be in. She moved into the room, the sound of her footsteps causing the guests to turn.

The girl was pretty, she noted. Wide brown eyes and chestnut curls framing her face. The man was watching her with suspicion and she noted the black trout on his clasp. So, this was the infamous Blackfish, she mused as she moved to Robert’s side. She looked at the girl again, wondering how she came to be in the Blackfish’s company when the last she had heard, he had been defending Riverrun in Robb’s name. The guard’s earlier confusion returned to her mind and suddenly, the pieces matched. This was indeed a Jeyne, just not her Jeyne. She was Jeyne Westerling, Robb’s widow.

“Why are you here?” Robert said rudely.

“My lord,” she responded quickly. Jeyne could not be revealed here in public, she knew. “Perhaps we should wait.”

“Why?” Robert snapped, frowning at her.

“They are weary from travel. Perhaps we can get rooms assigned for them and then question them later?”

Robert pursed his lips but waved a hand dismissively as he agreed to her request. She offered to show the girl her chambers while a knight was to show the Blackfish. She would have to find him later to speak to him. She had been told that Brynden had liked Petyr well enough when he had stayed with the Tullys but she also knew that the Blackfish was a Tully, through and through. His family would always come first. And if she told him what she knew about Petyr then he would protect her.

Jeyne pulled her cloak tighter to her, looking to Ser Brynden for reassurance. He gave her a kind smile and a nod then Jeyne turned to follow her. Once at the door, she glanced along the corridor and grabbed Jeyne’s wrist, dragging her into the room and slamming the door. Jeyne trembled slightly, her wide eyes on the brink of tears as she looked at her.

“I am Alayne Stark, baseborn daughter of Petyr Baelish and wife to the former bastard known as Jon Snow,” she began. “I know you are Jeyne Westerling.”

“Jon Snow?” Jeyne repeated, her voice quivering and her eyes shining with memory. “Robb talked about him so much. He… he wanted to name Jon heir if I couldn’t…” she trailed off, clenching her eyes shut as tears began to fall.

When she had first realised who Jeyne was, she had felt anger and grief for Robb all over again. This was the girl he had lost everything for, including his sister’s freedom from the Lannisters. But now, she looked at Jeyne with sympathy for she could see that she had truly loved Robb and even now, was fiercely loyal to him, enough to run from her own family and seek out what was left of Robb’s.

“I must ask you Jeyne, and you must tell me the truth,” she said softly. Jeyne nodded, waiting for her to continue. “Did you conceive Robb Stark’s child?”

Jeyne trembled, her eyes darting around the room as if expecting someone to appear any moment and take her back to her family, back to Casterly Rock. But then, she looked at Alayne again and gave the briefest of nods.

“It is why the Blackfish and I ran from Riverrun. Eleyna took my place to be presented to Jaime Lannister. And a young maid was acting as Eleyna. Mother had tried to stop me from conceiving but moon tea doesn’t always work and…”

“You must not tell anyone who you are,” she interrupted Jeyne sharply. “Not even Lord Arryn, do you hear?”

“But… he won’t hurt me, will he? He is Robb’s cousin!”

“Yes, but Lord Baelish might,” she countered. She caught the look of shock on Jeyne’s face and continued with a mocking smile. “Oh, I know we daughters should not speak ill of the men around us but my father is an awful man. You would not want to know the things he will do to those who stand in his way.”

***

“They tell me that you are Baelish’s natural daughter,” Brynden Tully said, his back to the door where she was hovering. She stepped into the room quietly, shutting the door behind her. The Blackfish looked at her over his shoulder with a frown.

“What else did they tell you?” she asked, hand trailing along the wooden dresser at the wall. Did he know that she had married Jon? Would he be suspicious of her husband when she revealed herself? She didn’t know what her mother may have told him but it wouldn’t have been good she would wager. She glanced at him and saw his frown deepen.

“I didn’t know Petyr had any children,” he said instead. She turned to fully face him. She might as well take the opening that was being presented. Family came first to Tullys after all, she would be safe with Brynden, she knew.

“He doesn’t,” she replied lowly. She lowered her eyes, forcing a choked sob to rise up her throat. “Do you … do you not see her in me?” she asked, wrapping her arms around her waist in a protective manner.

“Who?” he asked, stepping closer to her.

“Catelyn,” she responded, the word thick on her tongue. How long had it been since she had spoken of her? It felt almost a betrayal to mention her now, after all this time, when her name was being used in such a terrible game. “I am her trueborn daughter, Sansa Stark.”

Brynden blinked at her, brow furrowed in suspicion and confusion. She forced herself to look up at him, let the blue eyes of Catelyn stare right into his own. He bristled, coming close to her and tilting her face up and staring, trying to see all traces of his niece that he could.

“I can see her in your face,” he responded slowly, confusion still lacing his voice. “Your hair though…”

“Petyr made me dye it,” she explained. He bristled at the name, as if remembering why this conversation had begun in the first place. “He made me do a lot of things,” she added casually, her voice catching and her eyes lowering again. Brynden frowned.

“What did he make you do?”

She remembered how Catelyn had spoken of her uncle and how he had unwavering patience to listen to their stories and their problems. He would laugh at their triumphs and listen to their woes, offering advice if needed. He was a family man, always wanting to protect his nearest and dearest and loved every member fiercely, just like Catelyn had. She wondered if Brynden remembered Petyr’s obsession with Catelyn, wondered if his mind was trying to piece together what Petyr would want with Sansa Stark.

“He pushed Lysa Tully out of the moon door and made me lie about it,” she began. If she was going to get him on side, what better way to start than with what Petyr had done to Lysa. “He had deliberately played on Lysa’s jealousy, making her threaten me. And then he acted as though he was some knight in shining armour when he pushed her.” She paused for breath as she gathered the courage to speak the next part.

“He said he would reclaim Winterfell in my name with the Knights of the Vale pledging their swords to me. He told me to seduce Harry the Heir and I did. I bewitched him and entrenched him and charmed him. And then Petyr had him killed when he was no longer any use, when a better match appeared. You remember Jon Snow? You know of his true parentage?”

“Gods Sansa, tell me you didn’t marry that boy,” Brynden said, sounding as if it pained him to even speak it. She inhaled sharply at the way he had spoken, picking up on the underlying suspicion of Jon. So, Catelyn had revealed her distrust and dislike of Jon to her uncle and he probably thought that Jon was using her to claim Winterfell as well.

“He doesn’t know who I really am,” she insisted. Brynden’s eyebrows rose.

“He doesn’t recognise his sister?” he repeated in disbelief and then he gave a bitter laugh. “Or perhaps he really is a Targaryen and just hasn’t told you he knows.”

“I was a girl of eleven when I last saw him and now I am all but a woman,” she responded. “Taller, fuller and not at all the Sansa Stark he would remember in any way. He thinks Sansa is dead anyway, he wouldn’t think to look for me in Alayne. Besides, we’re cousins, not siblings.”

“You were raised as siblings though.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she insisted. “Jon is a good man. He is kind to me and gentle. If I were truly Alayne, I would never dream of such a match. But Petyr will kill him if he thinks he is of no use to him. Petyr is making me lie and play with Jon when all I want is for us all to be safe in Winterfell.”

“I understand,” Brynden said. She smiled as she turned to leave the room. She had just started down the corridor to her own chambers when the maester came hurrying around the corner.

“My lady, I have been looking for you. Lord Arryn has asked for your presence in the hall. There has been a raven.”

“From Winterfell?” she asked, her heart pounding with worry. Surely it was too soon for the battle to have taken place and for Jon to write. Unless … had Ramsay intercepted them? Was Ramsay writing to tell her to come and collect what was left of her husband. She swallowed back the bile in her throat.

“No, my lady,” the maester said, his voice grave with worry. “From Meeren. Daenerys Targaryen is sailing for Westeros.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So while I don't really think that Jeyne Westerling is pregnant with Robb's kid in the books, I decided to explore that conspiracy theory for this. Especially since the grief for Robb is something that Jon and Sansa have in common and will both be looking for some justice for him. However, I'm not quite sure what to do with the kid. Part of me wants to stick with the whole concept of the universe - that things aren't that easy so the kid is probably born blind or something from the moon tea potions. But then, I'm also like haven't the Starks suffered enough? :P


	6. Pledge of Allegiance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter skips about a bit but its really to show what is going on with Sansa, Jon and Dany.  
> I originally was going to have Ramsay defeated and Sansa heading home with her MOFO band of allies but it seemed a better place to end it here. Unfortunately, this means that Jon's reaction is pushed back a bit.

She took the letter Robert had shoved across his desk towards her when she entered his solar. She exhaled as she unfolded it, ready to know what Daenerys Targaryen was planning on doing.

She read the words slowly, twice. She had thought that Daenerys would sail for Dragonstone, her birthplace and a link to her Targaryen history. But it seemed the Dragon Queen had learned of Jon’s parentage and was instead heading North, to meet her kin. She swallowed as she read on, revealing how Aegon Targaryen had been found alive and was travelling with her as her betrothed. If Petyr knew that Aegon had been swapped at birth and had lived…Aegon’s claim was stronger than Jon’s…

She crumpled the paper in her hands as she fought to keep her breathing calm. She was running out of time, when Aegon and Daenerys arrive in the North, Petyr will change plans. He will kill Jon and possibly Daenerys, although perhaps her dragons would put him off that idea. Perhaps, he will push for Aegon to embrace his namesake’s tradition and take two wives and unite the seven kingdoms once more. Either way, it meant Jon was in danger if she didn’t get to him quickly.

“What shall we do?” she asked Robert eventually, placing the letter down between them. Robert shrugged and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. For all his continued shouting about being Lord of the Vale, he really had no idea what ruling meant. He never thought much beyond throwing people from the moondoor and demanding he be respected. He never made political decisions and never listened to the problems the people. She leaned against the desk beside him, frowning in thought.

She could write to Daenerys, or perhaps Tyrion would be a safer option. Tyrion would speak on her behalf to the Dragon Queen, tell her that she was of no threat to her claim for the Iron Throne and that she was Jon’s family too. But then, she would have to tell them why Sansa Stark was in the Vale, hiding behind the mask of Alayne and she doubted Daenerys Targaryen would like to know how her nephew had been tricked into a marriage and into Sansa’s bed.

Tyrion would defend her no doubt, would explain why Sansa had had to do everything she could to protect herself and Jon. He would explain that she would never, ever mean to hurt Jon like this unless there was a good reason for it, such as protecting him. And Sansa would swear to the Queen that she would press for an annulment herself, allow Jon to break his ties with her and try to forget the shame of what had happened. She would take the blame when the Northern Lords will undoubtedly call him awful things behind his back, whispers of Targaryen blood and sibling lovers. She would take it off his shoulders if needs be, she would swear on her knees before Daenerys if she had to.

But she would have to write quickly to allow her to intercept Daenerys and her forces before she got close enough to Winterfell and alerted Petyr of her existence, before he gained enough knowledge to form a new plan and turn on Jon. And she would have to leave almost immediately to meet her but that would mean that not only was Jeyne Westerling left here alone, but Jeyne Poole would arrive and she wouldn’t be here for her when she would so desperately need a friend.

Perhaps, perhaps…

“We should invite Daenerys here first,” she said. Robert looked at her as though she had turned into a dragon herself.

“No!” he replied, voice quivering on the edge of a tantrum. Sansa exhaled through her nose in an effort to calm herself.

“She needs to know we are loyal. Besides, the Lannisters killed your father remember?” she replied. Of course, they hadn’t but she had to keep up Petyr’s lie for now. If anything, reminding Robert of what Petyr had told him would allow him to question everything else Petyr had told him, including what happened to his mother. Robert frowned, a pout forming on his lips and Sansa continued. “She will help us avenge our families if we give her something in return.”

In truth, she was hoping Daenerys would sympathise with her. Perhaps she would recognise what Sansa had been through and help her bring justice to Baelish. Surely learning what Petyr had planned for her kin would bring Daenerys onto her side, would allow her to understand why Sansa had done everything she had with Jon. And in a way, she might be able to help Sansa and Jon salvage some form of closeness and trust again.

***

“You think you can trust her?” her uncle asked when she came to his chambers to ask his advice. She sat down at the desk, her hand pressed to her mouth as she contemplated her decision.

“I know nothing about her,” she replied honestly. “But, I hardly think it is wise to anger someone who has three dragons at their disposal. She might appreciate me making the first move in brokering an alliance.”

“True,” Brynden replied, moving to pour a cup of wine for them both. He took a sip, holding the cup gently by his mouth as he continued. “And you are right. By inviting her to come here, well it shows that we are willing to be her allies so it softens her already. And perhaps seeing a fellow woman greeting her will make her even more accommodating. Especially one with claims to three of the seven kingdoms.”

“Robert is Lord of the Vale and Uncle Edmure is Lord Paramount of The Riverlands,” Sansa replied, looking over to her uncle when he snorted.

“Robert is a useless sack and only Lord in name. Everyone with eyes can see that it is you who are leading and ruling here,” he said with a wry smile. “And your uncle, well, he is as good as dead. Roslin carries his child and if it is a son, Edmure will be killed for sure. Perhaps he will even die if it is a daughter. Either way, his lands will pass to the Freys.”

Sansa let out a small hiss at the thought. What the Freys had done was unforgivable and she had spent so many nights weeping for her poor mother and brother. And Grey Wind too, how he must have tried so hard to save Robb. She had heard what the Freys had done to both wolf and man, what they had done with her mother’s body. It had haunted her for weeks, thinking of it all. She wondered if Ramsay Bolton was related in some way to them for it seemed something as sick as he would do.

“You are by rights of succession, Queen in the North and Lady of the Vale and The Riverlands. In fact, I would name you Queen of the Trident if I had authority to say so.”

“You are kind great-uncle,” Sansa said with a small smile. “But it is simply not true. Jeyne’s child will be King or Queen in the North, that is why you saved her isn’t it?”

“Aye,” he replied, sipping his wine again. “But Jeyne, the sweet child that she is, knows nothing of the North. Even if she has a son that will make the North rejoice, many will still blame her for what happened to Robb. Even if he knew breaking a marriage alliance was hardly the smartest thing to do. She will need support and the North will only accept a Northern Regent for the child. You should know how stubborn they are.”

“So, should I write to Daenerys and invite her here?” she asked, wanting to take the subject of her being Queen away for it made her uncomfortable to think of it. Brynden took a long drink from his cup, looking at her over the rim once he was done. He placed the cup down beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I think there is little other choice,” he responded.  

***

Jon frowned at the letter, re-reading the words again to try and comprehend the meaning. He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His Aunt was sailing for Westeros and was pledging to support him reclaim Winterfell.

Ramsay had started off with the bigger army, though how many were fighting for the Boltons out of fear he wasn’t sure. Either way, they weren’t going to risk changing sides unless they knew Jon was going to win. And he had hoped the Lords of the Vale would help tip the side in that case. With Stannis' remaining army, the Wildlings and the few Northern houses gathered around him, he had started to think that he stood a chance.

But then, he had met Ramsay on the field to discuss terms and it had all gone wrong.

_“I hear your wife is a pretty little thing,” Ramsay said. Jon’s fists had clenched the reigns tightly. Ramsay had grinned at him as he continued. “I hear bastard girls are quite …accommodating… too. What a lucky man you are, almost as lucky as I. I hope your sister returns to me soon.”_

_“You said you have Mance at Winterfell,” Jon replied, determined not to think of Arya back in this man’s bed. Ramsay’s grin widened, his head tilting to the side as though trying to see inside Jon’s head._

_“You think you can save him?” Ramsay asked and he started shaking his head with a small tut to accompany the movement. “You see, you shouldn’t have let anyone know you were heading to The Vale, shouldn’t leave your letters where people can see them and pass information on to your enemies. Oh, don’t look so surprised, your brother was betrayed by people in his council after all. You know that, though don’t you? You know it was my father who plunged the dagger in to Robb Stark’s heart.”_

_Tormund reached over and gripped Jon’s reigns as Jon tensed. He had had to take several breaths to calm himself before he managed to respond._

_“How about one on one combat then?”_

_Ramsay’s smile disappeared as he stared at Jon. Tormund case a sideways glance at him and Lyanna Mormont had given a long exhale. And then suddenly, Ramsay gave a small chuckle and a shake of his head._

_“Oh, you’re good,” he said. “But unfortunately, you have shown your hand. I know now that you have the Lords of the Vale on your side. It would be stupid of me to fight you out here. So, I think I will just go back to Winterfell. It will be getting colder though, I might need to light some fires. I’ll start with that Wildling King. Farewell, Lord Snow.”_

“Is everything alright?”

Jon jumped at the sound of Baelish’s voice breaking his thoughts and he quickly pocketed the letter. Petyr’s eyes followed the movement. Jon opened his mouth, ready to explain the new turn of events when Lord Royce entered the tent.

“Forgive me Lord Stark,” he said quickly. “But your wolf is acting strange, you better come and see to him.”

Jon frowned. Ghost was never any bother unless there was a threat to Jon or those Jon cared about. He nodded quickly, giving Baelish a quick apology before following Royce out of the tent and towards where Ghost was … was sleeping soundly by the door to Jon’s tent. Jon swallowed, a dark part of him thinking he had been betrayed again and readied himself for the daggers once more.

“Do not give Baelish any information,” Royce hissed lowly. Jon opened his eyes and turned to him in confusion.

“He is my good-father,” he responded. Royce frowned slightly at the words but made no comment on it.

“Yes, he may well be Alayne’s father,” he admitted with a sniff. “However, do not trust him. Whatever was in that letter, do not tell him.”

“I have to,” Jon replied before dropping his voice to a whisper. “It is … it is from Daenerys Targaryen. She sent it to me and said she would pledge her armies to help me win Winterfell back.”

“You do not have to tell him,” Royce answered sharply. “It makes no difference now for Ramsay will not meet us in battle. He will stay within those Walls while we freeze out here. There is nothing else we can do. Your aunt’s dragons are the only thing that could bring him out or defeat him. So, I fail to see why Petyr needs to know about it.”

Jon pressed his lips together but said nothing. He hated lying to people, even people like Baelish. And a part of him was worried about what his wife would think, knowing of how little he trusted her father. It was hardly fitting the promise of an honest marriage that they had agreed upon.

“I warn you now my lord,” Royce said as he turned to leave. “Baelish will not grieve your death.”

***

“What do you think of this?” Daenerys asked, handing the letter she had received upon her arrival at White Harbour to Tyrion. She watched his eyebrows rise and he gave a small laugh.

“Sansa Stark,” he mused, tracing the signature at the bottom. “I once said she would survive us all. I do get tired of being right.” Daenerys narrowed her eyes, waiting for him to answer her unspoken question.

She had come to help her nephew. Varys had told her about the whispers that had been spreading across Westeros about Jon Snow’s true parentage. Aegon had arrived not long before then. If he hadn’t perhaps she wouldn’t have believed Varys so easily. But Aegon had proven his blood with Viserion’s loyalty and if his story of being swapped at birth could be true then Jon Snow being a love child between Lyanna Stark and her brother was not so far-fetched at all. Still, she would need him to support her claim and if helping him get the home of his Aunt’s family back would gain his trust and loyalty then it would be worth it. Tyrion had told her the North would be the hardest of the seven kingdoms to bring to heel, having Jon there would secure her position.

“She can be trusted Your Grace,” Tyrion said eventually. “She has as much reason to hate my family as you do. Joffrey was terrible to her and Cersei tormented her. My father played a part in her mother and brother’s deaths too. She will support you if it means getting vengeance for her family.”

“Still,” Daenerys mused, taking the letter back. “She has the backing of three of my seven kingdoms. What happens after the Lannisters are gone? Will she remain loyal to me?”

“Jon is her family too,” Tyrion reminded her.

“There is always the option of a marriage alliance,” Aegon said, standing from the crate he had been sitting on while waiting for them to decide what they were doing. It seemed he was bored with waiting now. Daenerys quirked a brow at him.

“Are you offering yourself dear nephew?” she asked, although she could see the appeal. It would definitely allow a secure alliance with the Kingdoms which pledged support to Sansa. And since she could not have children, Aegon marrying Sansa could secure their line. But then Aegon laughed and shook his head.

“Marry her to Jon,” he said before he looked at Tyrion with a guilty grin. “Assuming you truly do not want her as a wife.”

“Oh, men want Sansa Stark,” Tyrion quipped with a bitter laugh, remembering how disgusted he had felt when he realised he had wanted her. “But no, I will gladly release her if that is what she wants.”

“We will travel to The Vale now then?” Aegon asked, already looking towards the harbour as if the ships could be conjured back again.

“So, it would seem,” Daenerys agreed. “An alliance of wolves and dragons is something to be feared indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How mean is it that Sansa is trying to give Jon an out from the sham marriage and the Targaryen's are just like 'Nah, you're still going to have to marry her.' I know, its mean but totally something that would happen right? :P


	7. Well, now you see me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Wolves of Winter by Biffy Clyro, which will be on repeat for writing the next few chapters because damn it was made for GoT and BAMF Sansa and her pack vs Baelish :P

A thousand times Sansa had pictured what she would do when she saw Theon and Jeyne. If Petyr were here, she would still be acting as Alayne, curious but silent at the arrival of the guests. But Petyr was not here and neither was Alayne anymore. She was Sansa, and she would meet Theon and Jeyne as Sansa.

She imagined she would feel anger at seeing Theon, imagined how good it would feel to hit him and remind him of what he had done. She had thought she would speak the names of Bran and Rickon, bring their ghosts to life in front of him until he begged for her forgiveness. She thought she would at least ask him if he mourned for Robb like the brother he claimed he had been.

But as she looked at Theon, his quivering form and white hair, she knew, she _knew._ Because Sansa had been broken once before too. She had been beaten and she had known fear but never, never like this. And she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything but pity for him.

Jeyne was nothing like what Sansa remembered, she barely recognised her. Jeyne had been pretty once but now, her hair was lifeless, her brown eyes dull and her nose was black with frostbite. Sansa hoped Jon would be the one to cut Ramsay’s head off himself. Or perhaps she would settle for Ghost doing it, that would be an ironic death, she supposed. The man who loved his hounds and helped destroy her family, killed by a direwolf of House Stark.

She wondered when she had started believing in the possibility of heroes again, when once she had believed there were none left.

She had watched them dismount from a far distance, afraid that if she recognised Jeyne, she would recognise her and cry out for her friend without thinking. While Petyr may be gone but she couldn’t take the risk of thinking there weren’t people writing to him. She had been careful so far, meeting with her great-uncle in darkness, when there were no guards about. And she had disguised Jeyne as a hand-maiden, calling her Jenny like Jenny of Oldstones as Sansa thought it would be easy to remember. Though she still needed to reveal who she was to her, maybe she wouldn’t be so jumpy then. All those nerves can’t be good for the child and the thought made her press her lips together in worry.

As for Daenerys’ visit, well, she hadn’t told Robert she had sent the letter to her good-aunt. She hadn’t told anyone but Brynden, who she knew would never betray her. He had even encouraged her to leave it until the last minute because by the time any spies wrote to Petyr and he received word that she was coming, Deanerys would already be in the North with her dragons and unlikely to take well to the idea of her nephew being murdered in front of her.

She turned to leave for her chambers, where her good-sister would be keeping a low profile, away from watching eyes. Her uncle had agreed to bring Jeyne and Theon along later under pretence of meeting the Lord Protectors’ daughter and the wife of the Warden of the North in private.

Jeyne bolted upright in bed when Sansa opened the door. She gave the girl a small smile as she gently closed the door behind her.

“How are you feeling?” Sansa asked, moving to open a curtain. Her good-sister shielded her eyes at the sudden burst of light in the room and Sansa looked her over. She was too thin, she reckoned. All that travelling and in the bitter cold of an approaching winter had taken its toll on the poor girl. Yet, the child was moving so it had to be strong, a Stark. The thought made Sansa smile sadly. How she would have loved to see Robb’s face when he held his child but Robb was gone. Arya, Bran and Rickon were gone as well as mother and father. Only Jon remained to her, and he would likely never speak to her again when it all comes out. It is what Sansa tells herself when she speaks to tell Jeyne the truth.

“You said that Robb talked of Jon Snow often,” she began, waiting for the girl to fill the silence.

“Yes,” came the reply. “He wanted to name him his heir if I didn’t conceive, in case he fell in battle. He thought all his true-born siblings were dead, except Sansa but she … she…”

“Married Tyrion Lannister,” she said with more bite than she intended. She saw Jeyne flinch at her tone and felt remorseful. But it hurt, it really hurt to know that Robb, who she had idolised as her hero, her knight had forsaken her due to a marriage she had no say in, and hadn’t even been consummated.

“I didn’t agree with it,” Jeyne said softly, eyes downcast. “But Robb…sometimes … I didn’t always know how to talk to him about it. He barely spoke about his plans to me. He only told me that one because I still hadn’t conceived, as far as we knew anyway.”

_Did Robb even love me at all?_

“I don’t think it was easy for him,” Jeyne continued, as if hearing Sansa’s thoughts. “He spoke of his sisters so often. He said I would love Sansa almost instantly and she would be good to me. And Arya, he said she might seem harsh but she would be as protective of me as anyone else in her family. I so wish I could have met them. Alayne, are you alright?”

Sansa wiped the tears away harshly. It was hardly a great poem of her brilliant qualities, or a tragic song of her struggles but for Sansa, knowing Robb had thought about her, had never found it easy to leave her in the clutches of the Lannisters. In many ways, it was better than a song.

“I am well,” she said eventually. She moved to take Jeyne’s hand, giving her a small smile. “I will be good to you, I swear. You are my sister, my only sister now.”

“Well, cousins I suppose technically,” the girl said and Sansa could see how Robb fell for her in that moment, the sweetness and the goodness was refreshing but it also made Sansa’s smile drop a little. Because Jeyne was in as much danger as Jon was, should Petyr find out the truth. She liked to think Petyr wouldn’t stoop so low as to murder a new-born babe, especially Catelyn’s grandchild. Yet, he could easily do what he had done with her aunt and kill Jeyne and take control of the North through the child.

“No, sisters,” she repeated firmly. “You must promise me, not to repeat what I tell you now. It is dangerous, do you understand?”

“Yes, I swear.”

“I am not Petyr Baelish’s daughter, I am Sansa Stark.”

Jeyne’s brow furrowed as she looked at her and Sansa felt a pang of guilt. The poor girl had been through enough and hear she was putting another burden on her shoulders.

“You can’t be,” she said eventually. “Sansa Stark is dead.”

“I suppose she is in a way,” Sansa replied with a rueful smile. “I believed I was Alayne for so long. Until Jon came here, Sansa Stark was all but a ghost.”

She went on to talk about Winterfell, all that she could remember and then talked about Kings Landing, naming knights and Lords that had been there. Eventually, she could see that Jeyne had matched what she knew about the Capital court and what Robb had told her of Winterfell and believed her.

“Did you really kill Joffrey?”

Sansa looked at her good-sister in surprise. She had expected her to ask about Jon, why the marriage still took place and was prepared to say how Jon knew nothing about what was going on. But Jeyne’s eyes were hard and for a moment, Sansa thought maybe she could be a wolf as well. Perhaps Robb’s child was giving her some bite. But Sansa knew Jeyne had as much reason to detest the Lannisters as she did. They may not have stripped her in front of the court or beaten her. But they had broken her, just like they had with Sansa. And they had taken Robb from both of them.

“No,” Sansa said eventually. “But I often thought about his death.”

“Jon will kill the Boltons. And Winterfell will belong to the Starks again!” Jeyne said fiercely, taking her hand. Sansa smiled sadly at their joined hands, thinking how she wished Arya was here too.

“Yes,” Sansa replied. “The wolves will come again.”

***

It was evening before Brynden brought Jeyne Poole and Theon to her chambers.

Like with her good-sister, Sansa could tell they were sceptical about her identity, especially since she still had her brown hair. But when she told of how the Stark’s household guard had been murdered by Cersei’s gold cloaks and the night they had spent locked in Sansa’s chambers as scared, helpless girls.

Jeyne Westerling was staring at Theon, her face unreadable but Sansa could see the anger in her eyes. If Theon hadn’t killed Bran and Rickon, Robb would never have slept with Jeyne and he would still be alive.

“Jon is Lord of Winterfell, according to Robb’s will,” Sansa said after she had revealed her identity. “Being the only male heir of House Stark so he will be the one to decide the punishment for you. But I ask you know, how could you murder them? Two little boys, your brothers as much as mine in all but blood!”

“They’re not,” Theon mumbled, looking at the ground. Sansa paused, her eyebrows knitting together. She noticed the use of present tense.

“What do you mean?”

 “I didn’t kill them.”

Sansa felt as though the air had been sucked out of her lungs. How long had it been since she had heard of Bran and Rickon being killed? It had to have been at least two years now. Even if Theon hadn’t killed them, would they have survived two years in the wilderness, alone? Arya would have, perhaps. But Rickon was only three when she left Winterfell and Bran, he was never to walk again. The elation she felt at the prospect of her brothers being alive diminished as quickly as it came and she forced herself to not entertain the possibility anymore.

“It matters not to Jon at this point I suppose,” she said honestly. She glanced at Jeyne then. “However, for what you did for Jeyne, I will be forever grateful. And I will ask mercy on your behalf. Perhaps, Jon can be convinced to send you to the wall.”

“Rickon is alive,” Theon said again. Sansa clenched her eyes shut. She couldn’t go through all of this again. She couldn’t build her hopes up only for her to hear of another member of her family dying. “Stannis sent someone to retrieve him. They said he was on Skagos with Osha.”

“Who?” Sansa asked, opening her eyes to look at Theon again.

“A wildling woman we had as a prisoner in Winterfell. When I took Winterfell, she protected Bran and Rickon, snuck them out.”

“So then, where is Bran?” Sansa asked, hating herself for taking the bait, for allowing that tiny glimmer of hope to shine before her eyes.

“I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

Sansa huffed and glanced at Brynden.

“I think we should write to Jon. At least to say it isn’t Arya who married Ramsay,” Brynden said after a moment of silence.

“He won’t believe it. There is nobody here whose word he would trust to be true,” she replied.

“You’re here, Sansa.”

“I am Alayne to him,” she replied sadly, lowering her eyes. Brynden moved to sit beside her, taking her hand gently in his.

“Sweetling,” he said gently, pushing her hair back from her face. “You can’t be Alayne forever.”

***

Tyrion raised his eyebrows when he saw her in the entrance hall but he said nothing. She gave him a small nod in gratitude before turning to the young woman and man before her, dropping into a curtsey.

“Your grace,” she said to Daenerys. “I am Alayne, daughter of Lord Petyr Baelish and wife to Jon Snow.”

“Pardon?” Daenerys said. Sansa looked between Tyrion, who looked equally confused and surprised and Prince Aegon who seemed rather amused at the introduction. She frowned, fighting back the fear of upsetting the Queen.

“I am daughter of Petyr Bae…”

“Yes, I heard you,” Daenerys cut her off. “But you married my nephew? Why was I not informed of this?”

“It was a hasty decision Your Grace,” Sansa replied. Beside her, Brynden was narrowing his eyes on their guests and Robert was glaring, a tantrum forming behind his eyes. If she didn’t do something soon, she feared a battle would be started right now. “If we could talk privately …”

“Where is Sansa Stark?” Daenerys asked suddenly, glancing around the room. Sansa faltered as she saw several of the guards look perplexed. Panicking, she looked to Tyrion, who met her eyes, giving her the briefest tilt of his head.

“I am sure all the Vale would love to know Sansa Stark’s whereabouts if only to congratulate her on Joffrey’s murder,” Tyrion said. A few guards laughed and Tyrion took the moment of distraction to give Daenerys a pointed look.

“Forgive me,” the Dragon Queen said quickly. “I assumed someone here would know where she was, since I believe her kin are here?”

“Robert,” Sansa placed a hand on his shoulder to indicate him, make him feel important. “is Sansa Stark’s cousin, yes.”

“I don’t know where she is. I don’t care either,” Robert snapped and then he looked at Tyrion. “You were supposed to fly! I should have you pushed from the Moon Door now!”

“You dare threaten my hand?” Daenerys hissed as the dragons roared outside.

“Robert was a young child when I was brought here as a prisoner,” Tyrion explained, a hand on Daenerys’ arm to steady her. “It was a misunderstanding. Easily done.”

“Your Grace,” Sansa said pleadingly. “May we retire somewhere private to discuss our allegiance?”

“Yes, perhaps that will be best,” Daenerys replied.

Sansa stood making her way to her rooms with Daenerys, Prince Aegon, Tyrion and the Blackfish accompanying her. She had told her good-sister to go to Jeyne Poole’s chambers until the discussion was done.

She opened the door, allowing her guests to enter first. Brynden gave her shoulder a small squeeze as he passed. She smiled at him and closed the door behind her. Tyrion gave a small clap.

“Sansa Stark, you survived as I said you would,” he grinned with admiration and Sansa couldn’t help but smile back.

“I am glad to see you well my Lord,” she replied and genuinely meant it. She had realised how kind Tyrion had been to her and was glad he had survived those monsters in his family too.

“Wait, this is Sansa Stark?” Aegon asked, his eyebrows rising as he regarded her. Sansa felt her cheeks flush from the attention. Aegon was handsome, a young Rhaegar from what she had been told of the late Prince.

“Indeed,” Tyrion responded dryly, helping himself to a cup of wine.

“Well, that makes it easier,” Aegon said with a chuckle. Sansa frowned.

“Makes what easier?” she asked.

“We were going to propose you marry Jon,” Daenerys said as she stared out the window, no doubt looking at her dragons below. “To unite the kingdoms again.”

Sansa could not help the bitter laugh that escaped her and she looked to her uncle.

“Jon married Alayne Stone, Your Grace,” Sansa replied after a moment. Daenerys turned to her in confusion.

“But you are Alayne,” she replied. Sansa shook her head.

“No, I mean, Jon…he doesn’t know Alayne and I are the same person. He never recognised me.”

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Daenerys asked, her voice hard. Sansa felt herself grow cold. She hadn’t felt this helpless since she had been in Kings’ Landing. But she was a Stark, a wolf and wolves were brave.

“Because, I was protecting him,” she replied. Daenerys raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Petyr Baelish wants to have any power he can through me. Winterfell, Westeros, it makes no difference for Jon is linked to it all. I thought I was keeping Jon safe by ensuring he was interested in Alayne, but it went so much deeper than that. Your Grace, I fear now you and Aegon are here, Jon is in grave danger. All of you are. He won’t stop until he has the Iron Throne and me at his side. But I won’t be his Queen, never. I never meant to hurt Jon, I truly didn’t.”

“Petyr loved Sansa’s mother very much. In fact, it was like an obsession,” Brynden added. “He will take Sansa for his own but he would have to kill your nephew first. Sansa is a Tully as well as a Stark, she was only ever thinking of protecting Jon. She did what she had to do.”

“I remember Baelish from the capital,” Tyrion said with a nod. “And unfortunately, I would have to say that it is entirely likely that he has planned such a thing.”

“So, what now?” Daenerys asked, folding her arms and looking at the occupants of the room.

“We head North, all of us,” Aegon suggested, looking at everyone in the room as he spoke. “And while Sansa waits for the all clear, we will join Jon. And if Baelish happens to get in the way of a dragon…”

“No,” Sansa said coldly, her eyes meeting Aegon’s. “I am a Stark. I will hear his confession from his own mouth. He will tell it to all of Winterfell, what he did to me and my family.”

Silence resonated in the room. Tyrion gave her a proud smile.

“And then he can die.”


	8. Don't Fear the Reaper

“Tell me of my nephew,” Daenerys said suddenly from behind her causing Sansa to start and glance away from the horse she had been petting. Sansa looked over her shoulder and the Queen and then up to the sky where the three dragons were circling above them, waiting to start the long journey. Following her vision, Daenerys smiled.

“They won’t harm you,” she stated simply as they looked at each other again. Sansa was unconvinced that dragons could really be tamed but she kept that opinion to herself and instead answered the Queen’s original request.

“Jon is a good man,” she started slowly. Daenerys raised a brow, clearly not satisfied with this description. “He is a Northman, through and through. He is just and honourable but also kind and gentle and…” she trailed off, suddenly remembering her father’s words all those years ago, promising to find her a man just like Jon. It filled her with sadness all over again.

For while Daenerys might want Jon to marry her as Sansa, Sansa herself knew that she would be lucky if Jon would even look at her after this, let alone talk to her. He certainly wouldn’t be bedding her anytime soon, she thought bitterly and was surprised by how much that saddened her. The whole idea of marriage with Jon was appealing when she was Alayne, a girl with no prospects and rising up through the ranks like Jon had. As Sansa, the appeal was greater for Jon was the man she had wanted all along, what she once thought could only be found in the south. The North didn’t have the Faith of the Seven and thus, little to no knights. Yet, Jon had more honour, more kindness and more sweetness than any of those men in Kings Landing had. Jon would never beat a girl for her brother’s victories, he wouldn’t strip her in front of court, he wouldn’t go back on a promise of mercy.

“He is well-liked by the Northerners then? They would accept him as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North?” Daenerys asked and Sansa felt her eyes narrow.

“Forgive me Your Grace, but Jon is not the heir to Winterfell.”

“Is he not?” Daenerys responded with a trace of amusement. “So, who is?”

_Jeyne’s child, if it survives. And then Rickon, if Theon speaks true._

“I am the only living true-born child of Eddard and Catelyn Stark,” she replied simply, not trusting the information of potential heirs with the Queen yet. Daenerys’ lips twitched slightly, her violet eyes regarding Sansa curiously.

“If you marry Jon, would he not be your Lord?” she countered after a moment.

“He would be my husband, yes,” Sansa responded slowly. “But Jon wouldn’t rule over me or my Kingdom. He would rule with me.”

“Lady Stark,” Daenerys said, her smile widening. “Lord Tyrion was right to admire you.”

Sansa blinked, her eyes glancing towards Tyrion who was clambering into the carriage that some of the less skilled riders would be travelling in. He met her eyes, giving her a small smile and a nod and she felt herself return it before looking to Daenerys again.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured before excusing herself and moving towards the steps where Robert stood watching them all depart. She felt bad leaving him like this without telling him Alayne wasn’t real. He had been attached to Alayne and perhaps in his mind he did believe himself to love that girl.

“This is farewell, Lord Arryn,” she said, dipping into a curtsey.  Robert scowled, folding his arms across his chest.

“I don’t want you to go!”

“I know,” she cooed, kneeling so she was level with him and fixing the collar of his shirt with an affectionate smile. It seemed to placate him a little as his arms unfolded, though his scowl remained. “But I must.”

“Will you come back?” Robert asked and for the first time, she saw him as just a child, scared and alone. She paused for a moment, thinking over her answer. She didn’t want to lie and say she would come back but perhaps, when Petyr was gone, perhaps she could visit.

“Hopefully,” she settled for in the end, giving him a reassuring smile. “In the meantime, I would very much like to hear good reports about you. I want you to listen to your maester and go to your lessons. I want you to be a good Lord, do you hear me?”

“If I am, will you come back and marry me?”

She laughed but it sounded bitter to her own ears. Had Petyr encouraged Robert like he had with her, made him believe his hopes were in his grasp? Made the young boy think he could have it all without consequence? She didn’t doubt it and it was why, with a heavy heart she added in as solemn a voice as she could. “My father would never allow that, my Lord.”

Robert scowled again and Sansa held her breath as she saw the emotion war on his face until he spoke again. “Petyr has betrayed me.”

Sansa breathed again with a relieved sigh, too quiet for him to hear. “He has betrayed many people, my Lord.”

Robert looked at her again before looking out towards where Daenerys and Aegon were mounting their dragons. For the first time, he looked like he could grow to be a Lord and when he looked at her, Sansa knew she had him.

“Your father is a traitor my lady,” he said eventually and Sansa forced herself to nod, remembering how she had learned to appease those who regarded her a possible traitor back in Kings Landing and here too.

“He is my lord, forgive me for not being more honest with you.”

“I warn you now, I will have his head on a spike.”

_You will have to get in line my lord._

She did not voice her thoughts, merely bowed her head in acknowledgment and kissed the hand he offered. She turned back to the leaving party, seeing Jeyne and Theon getting into the carriage with Tyrion and her good-sister hovering beside it.

“Are you well?” she asked her, clasping her hand in reassurance. Jeyne nodded but her eyes glanced over to the dragons nervously.

“What will happen?” Jeyne asked softly, eyes still looking towards the beasts and their riders. Sansa turned her head to regard them as well.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, looking back to Jeyne. Her good-sister swallowed and lowered her eyes. Sansa grasped her hand again. “But I swear to you, I will not let those dragons harm you or your child.”

“She will want Jon’s child in charge of Winterfell,” Jeyne replied.

“Yes,” Sansa said. “But I doubt that will happen anytime soon. Jon will likely never forgive me for my deception.”

Jeyne looked at her, her hand squeezing her back. “Who could not love you Sansa?”

***

Winter was coming.

She had thought so when she had built Winterfell from snow all those months ago. But now, the snows were thicker the further North they travelled. The carriage struggled through the drifts, slowing their progress as they made their way through the Vale. It had only been three days and they had barely moved at all.

Above them, the dragons roared, their riders clad in furs against the bitter winds. Sansa would glance at them every so often, their terrible beauty drawing her focus all the time. Brynden rode beside her, her sworn shield as such. Every time she looked upon the dragons, he would follow her line of sight, his eyes narrowing in unhidden contempt.

They would be stopping soon since the nights were coming quicker and the winter winds were getting worse the further north they travelled. They were keeping their eyes open for a decent camping spot, enough cover from the elements and any suspicious passer-by but not too far off that they couldn’t keep an eye on the Kingsroad, looking for friend or foe. Sansa pulled her cloak closer around her when Bryden stopped suddenly, craning his neck to look behind him. Sansa tugged the reigns of her own horse, regarding him curiously.

And then…

The howl came loud and clear and Sansa knew it was not the wind. She would recognise the difference anywhere. A wolf calling out for its family, its mate. Her horse moved nervously, ears twitching and hooves scraping the ground.

“Wolves,” she whispered. Brynden nodded.

“They say there was a large wolf in the Riverlands that was leading a giant pack,” he murmured back, still looking around as the howling came closer. The dragons screeched and Sansa looked up again to see Daenerys and Aegon moving to bring their dragons down and investigate.

_Nymeria?_

She did not want to hope it, the thought of Arya’s wolf still being alive and well. But if she were, perhaps it could mean Arya was alive too, perhaps they were even together. Arya had always been good at hiding and blending into the shadows. If she had escaped Kings Landing and made it this far to reunite with her wolf, she could have lived. Sansa tried to stop herself from thinking it, she couldn’t go through the thought of almost being reunited with her siblings only for them to be ripped from her again.

“Would it come this far north?” she asked, eyes focussed on the bushes as though expecting the wolf to dart out. _Would Nymeria hurt me? I couldn’t blame her if she did._

“Possibly,” Bryden replied.

“What is the matter?” Daenerys asked, appearing at Sansa’s side. Aegon walked up beside Brynden, peering curiously into the bushes.

“I thought I heard something,” Brynden responded dismissively, not looking at Daenerys. Theon and Tyrion peered out of the carriage, her good-sister’s face appearing seconds after.

And then, Sansa saw them.

“I don’t see anything,” Aegon replied, moving forward slightly to peer closer into the trees.

Brynden unsheathed his sword. Sansa gripped the reigns of her horse tighter as it started to sway from nerves.  She turned her head suddenly, feeling as though she was being watched. The wind whipped her face harshly as she tried to see anything in the growing darkness.

“Perhaps I was wrong,” Brynden said after a moment.

“Lets keep moving then,” Daenerys replied. “We’ll set up camp soon.”

***

Sansa was worried for her good-sister.

The sooner they got to Winterfell the better. Jeyne needed rest and warmth. The journey was hard enough for the group as it was, it must be taking a bigger toll on her when she carried the heir to the North and Robb’s only child. The pressure was high and Sansa could not bare the idea of something happening to Jeyne or the child.

“Do you need some water?” she asked. Jeyne nodded gratefully. The supplies were rationed but Sansa would just go to the river to get Jeyne extra. It was just along the path a bit, not far from the group.

She made her way down the embankment and kneeled by the river. It wasn’t frozen yet but Sansa knew it wouldn’t be much longer. She pulled her cloak around her tighter as the open space made the wind that much harsher. She had just filled the flagon up when she heard rustling behind her. She stood quickly, turning in the direction of the noise.

Men were emerging from all sides. Sansa’s froze, her heart pounding with fear as they approached. She screamed, hoping Brynden was nearby or perhaps even one of Daenerys’ dragons would come. The men kept moving towards her and Sansa picked up some rocks from the water, throwing them in a last-ditch attempt of defence.

_If Arya were here, she would scare them off._

A hooded figure emerged from the shadows to her left and Sansa stepped back instinctively, her boot sinking into the mud of the riverbank. She couldn’t see the figures face but she could tell it was a woman. A young Sansa may have been naïve enough to cry out in relief, believing that a woman would never harm her. But her time in the Red Keep had taught her that women didn’t always protect each other.

“Stop there!” Brynden suddenly called, appearing from the trees with his sword unsheathed. Surprisingly, the figure did, the hooded head turning towards Brynden although the face was still concealed by the approaching darkness.

“Do you know him?” a man asked the figure as he moved to her side. He wore a yellow cloak around his shoulders, his nose looked as if it had been broken once. Brynden grabbed Sansa’s arm, pulling her behind him as the woman pressed a hand to her throat. The man leaned towards her to listen before straightening up again. “Brynden Tully?”

“Who are you?” Brynden growled. The woman raised her hands to the hood.

Sansa wailed, falling to her knees even as her hands came to cover her mouth. Brynden’s sword dropped from his hands.

“Mother!”

The word came out on instinct even though Sansa knew that this was not her mother, not even physically anymore. Her beautiful red hair that Father had loved was gone, half physically missing and the other white and brittle. Her blue eyes fixed themselves on Sansa, cold like ice and Sansa shivered from the look. And the scars on her face made Sansa want to weep.

“Mother,” she said again as Catelyn Stark, or what was left of her, moved towards her.

“Sansa Stark?” the man asked her, appearing in her view from the side of her mother.

“Yes,” Sansa replied, unable to take her eyes off her mother as she stopped in front of her, tilting her chin up. Sansa shuddered from the coldness of her fingertips on her skin.

“I am sorry,” the man said. “As you can see, this is not your mother anymore.”

“How are you here?” Sansa asked, looking up at Catelyn, her beautiful pale skin now the colour of curdled milk.

“Lord Beric Dondarrian revived her,” the man spoke again. He bowed before her. “I am Lem, known as Lem Lemoncloack, my lady.”

_You should have buried her. She shouldn’t be here._

“Mother,” she whispered again, grasping the cold hands in her own and sobbing softly.

“She wants revenge for your brother,” Lem explained.

“Revenge?” Brynden repeated, also unable to take his eyes off his niece.

“She will hunt those who betrayed your family. Every Frey, every Lannister, all their supporters.”

_Jeyne. Her house was sworn to the Lannisters. Surely, surely she wouldn’t…_

“Some people are innocent Ser,” Sansa snapped, glaring up at Lem. She softened as she grasped her mother’s hands again. “Mother, I was punished for Robb’s victories merely for being a Stark. If there is any trace of Catelyn Tully in there, you would allow a trial, allow people to defend themselves. Father wouldn’t want this, Robb wouldn’t want this!”

Her mother hissed, retracting her hands away. Sansa reared back, her skirts ruined in the mud where she kneeled. She watched as the other men came closer to her and she lifted a hand to her throat again, the men leaned in to listen to her. Sansa glanced at Brynden.

“What do we do?” she whispered.

“We must leave, she will let us.”

“We can’t allow her to continue like this,” she hissed in shock.

“She asks where you are travelling to and who you are travelling with,” Lem said suddenly, causing Sansa to jump.

“We are returning to Winterfell,” Sansa replied steadily.

“We heard the Boltons had Winterfell,” Lem replied suspiciously.

“They did, they do,” Sansa continued, forcing herself to look at her mother. “Jon Snow is…”

Her mother hissed again, turning her back on Sansa, who choked back a swallow as she spoke to Lem again.

“Mother, you must listen!” Sansa pleaded. “Jon is good, he is winning Winterfell back for me. He has the Vale behind him and… and…Daenerys Targaryen has arrived with her dragons and pledged to help.”

“The rumours are true then? He was never Eddard Stark’s bastard but the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna?”

“Yes,” Sansa replied just as they heard a timid voice call out.

“Sansa?”

“Jenny, stay with the others!” Sansa called desperately but too late, her good-sister appeared, stopping as she saw the men who surrounded them. And then she paled as she looked at Sansa’s mother, a hand grasping the tree beside her for support.

“Lady Catelyn?” she gasped.

“Mother, don’t hurt her!” Sansa begged, rising to her feet and moving towards Jeyne.

“She says you are the Lannister’s whore,” Lem commented. Jeyne swallowed.

“I loved him!” she stated defiantly even as Sansa moved in front of her.

“Mother please, I will be home soon, isn’t that enough for you? I will be safe again and perhaps Arya is alive somewhere, and Rickon too! I heard rumours he is on Skagos. Jon will allow us to come home. I beg you to stop this madness with the Freys. There will be justice for Robb, I promise you. But it must be the guilty who are punished, not anyone with the Frey or Lannister name. Jeyne is innocent. She is carrying Robb’s child!”

_She is part of the pack. I’ll protect her if I must, even against you._

“What is going on?” a voice cried out and Sansa turned to see Aegon approaching, sword drawn as he regarded the people surrounding Sansa and her companions.

“We’re fine!” Sansa insisted, eyes darting between Aegon and her mother.

She knew she could not save her mother, she knew what had to be done. But Aegon would not be the one to do it, she wouldn’t let him. Still, Aegon approached slowly, eyes widening as he looked at the shell of Catelyn Stark.

“Don’t hurt her!” Sansa begged, outstretching her hand towards Aegon. He paused, blinking at her in confusion.

“Are you sure it is the Young Wolf’s child she carries?” Lem asked. Aegon turned to her in shock even as Jeyne bristled beside her.

“I will ask you to take that back Ser,” Jeyne snapped and Sansa would have smiled if their situation were not so dire. She could never doubt Robb’s child grew in Jeyne, giving her the strength of a wolf.

“I am sure,” Sansa replied. “Please, I beg mercy.”

_“I beg mercy for my Father.”_

Sansa inhaled sharply of the memory that invaded her mind. How she had begged Joffrey, believed he would be kind and merciful, that he loved her and would never hurt her. Would her mother break her dreams too?

“There ain’t much mercy in her,” another man piped up, taking a long swig from his flask.

“Ser Thoros!” she said, remembering him from the Hands tourney held for her father. He inclined his head.

“That girl is as good as dead my lady,” he replied, his voice low with sadness. Sansa could tell he disapproved of what her mother was doing and planning.

“You’ll have to kill me first!” Sansa barked.

“Lady Lannister indeed,” another man she didn’t recognise chuckled from the corner. Her mother hissed again, whether at the man’s words or the fact she believed her daughter was a Lannister, Sansa did not know.

“Enough,” Aegon growled, stepping closer again.  Sansa wished for this stalemate to end.

The wind was howling again, sharp and wild. Sansa felt it throughout her body, the power of it rushing through her just as a flash of grey flitted through the trees, so fast Sansa was surprised she didn’t hurt her neck at the speed she turned her head to try and catch the movements. And then, then she saw her, the dark golden eyes staring down from the rock she had climbed upon to observe them all.

“Nymeria,” Sansa breathed, her voice choking with glee and love. Her sister’s direwolf was alive and well. Perhaps, that meant that Arya was too. She may even be here now, close by. Sansa could barely dare to hope for such a thing.

It seemed like there were hundreds of wolves all of a sudden, coming out from the trees, silent on the soft snow as they circled them. Nymeria looked to her mother, her eyes almost sad. Aegon took Jeyne’s hand, tugging her away from the scene. Brynden moved around the sides, taking the distraction that the wolves had brought in order to slide closer to Catelyn.

Her mother’s head whipped around sharply, just as Brynden thrust his sword through her chest. “I am sorry, little Cat. But you should not be here,” he whispered as she screeched, hands clawing at his arms for the brief second she had strength before she collapsed. Sansa’s hands dropped from her mouth, her tears freezing on her cheeks.

The wolves moved in, snapping at the men threatening and allowing Brynden to come back to her and pull her away. She couldn’t help stare back at her mother’s lifeless body. She had already had to mourn her mother once and now she would have to do so again.

“Sansa!” Daenerys cried when they emerged from the forest. “What happened?”

“We have to keep moving,” Brynden said in response, throwing an arm around Sansa’s shoulders to steady her. Daenerys blinked.

“But it is almost dark,” she replied, looking up at the sky.

“It isn’t safe here,” he insisted, glancing behind him.

Daenerys glanced in the same direction and then back to Brynden before nodding. “We’ll go for a while longer.”

***

The Brotherhood without Banners, as she had learned they were called, did not follow them further North but Nymeria caught up with them eventually, sliding close to Sansa’s horse all the way as they continued their journey. Sansa wondered if Nymeria and her pack had killed the Brotherhood or merely frightened them. She wondered if they had been spared, did they bury her mother? Did Nymeria do it perhaps? She tried not to think about it because she had already grieved for her mother before, when she had only heard about what the Freys had done to her at that wedding. But it had been far worse than she could have ever imagined

Still, she mused. She could see the flags of House Stark on the horizon, signalling where Jon and his men were camping. It would be so sweet to see him again, she thought but the giddiness disappeared just as fast.

_You are no longer Alayne._

Even her red hair was starting to reappear slowly, enough that she had to hide it beneath her hood. She exhaled slowly, nerves building. She didn’t want to do this, she couldn’t do it. She felt Brynden squeeze her hand and she looked up at him.

“You can be brave sweetling,” he whispered. “You must be.”

She nodded. She was a Stark, a wolf. She had known that she risked losing Jon when she had set out to wed and bed him. Even if she had done it to protect him, to protect Winterfell and even herself it made little difference. She had betrayed him, hurt him and shamed them both. But she would do it all again if it meant he was alive. She would take all of his anger, his accusations, his hurt because it meant Petyr had not won, would not win.

_I am the blood of Winterfell._

The men bowed as they entered the camp and Sansa bobbed her head politely. Petyr was there too, his eyes wide as he saw her approach with her great-uncle and Nymeria by her side and three dragons riding above her. She dared to cast him a cold smile.

_You underestimated me Petyr. Now I will bring you down._

She saw Jon emerge from his tent, a grim smile tugging at his lips and Sansa felt her heart stop at the sight, what it meant. The battle was on his mind, but seeing Alayne had brightened him even a little. She felt her bravery crumble slightly and she pulled on the reigns to stop her horse and allow her a moment to regain her composure.

_I am Lord Eddard’s daughter. And Lady Catelyn’s. I am the blood of Winterfell, a Stark. I can be brave._

“You must be my nephew,” Daenerys greeted as she slid off of Drogon’s back as Aegon dismounted Viserion. Jon paused, seemingly unsure of how to greet her. He inclined his head, giving a half bow.

“Aunt,” he replied politely, placing a kiss upon her hand. He shook Aegon’s hand when he was offered.

“Brother,” Aegon supplied with a grin.

“Thank you for your support,” Jon replied, his eyes looking back at her again. Soft, sweet Jon. Oh, she wished she could be Alayne again, just for one more day.

“My Lady,” he greeted, reaching to take her hips and guide her down to the ground.

Her hands lingered on his shoulders where she had placed them to steady herself. Their eyes met and then he leaned in placing a soft kiss to her lips. Sansa knew she should turn her head from him, stop the kiss in some way. But doing so in front of his men would raise questions.

“Jon, we must speak,” she whispered when he moved back. His hands stroked her hips through her layers, his forehead resting against her own. “May we go to your tent?”

He grinned, clearly thinking this was going to lead somewhere else. She bit back the disappointment at knowing it wouldn’t be, would never be again. For even if Daenerys insisted Jon married Sansa, she knew Jon would likely never want to be in the same room as her, let alone touch her again. Jon was no longer hers, never would be again.

He pulled her into the tent, turning quickly to put his mouth on hers again but she turned her head away, a hand coming to his chest to push him back. He blinked, frowning in confusion as he regarded her face.

“Alayne?” he questioned.

_I am the blood of Winterfell._

“I’m not,” she whispered, casting her eyes down. He opened his mouth to question but she raised her hands to her hood, pushing it back to reveal the red roots of her hair. Still, Jon frowned, still not quite recognising her.

“I suppose it is difficult to see,” she began. “Physically, it isn't just my hair. I have grown since I was eleven, a woman now. And I used to wear my hair in southern styles all the time rather than like this. I wore dresses of silk, purple mostly. Not wool and in grey and white, proper Northern colours. I never wanted to be in the North. I wanted a golden prince to marry so I would be Queen someday, it was all I ever wanted. Even when Bran fell from that tower, I still went south instead of staying in Winterfell. Even when they killed Lady, I still believed in those silly dreams.”

She saw Jon pale as realisation started to dawn on him.

“And then Arya disappeared and Joffrey cut off Father’s head. Then I finally realised, too late that I was surrounded by enemies, caught in the lions den. All I wanted was to come home. I wanted Arya and Bran and Rickon all to come home too, with Nymeria, Summer and Shaggydog.”

Jon’s hand flew up to cover his mouth as he took a step back.

“Oh Gods,” he muttered. “Sansa?!”


	9. It was almost love

“Sansa?!” he repeated, stepping away from her with wide eyes. His hand came to cover his mouth before he turned away from her, his back heaving with his anguished breaths as though he was barely able to stop himself retching.

“I’m sorry,” she implored, reaching for him. He jerked as her fingers touched his arm, stepping away from her and turning to her again. This time, she could see the shock being replaced with anger, his mouth curling in disgust. She opened her mouth, needing to explain everything. “Jon, I…”

“How could you?” he snarled, the bite in his tone causing Sansa to step back, startled and afraid of his wrath. “Was this some sick joke to you? To prove Lady Catelyn right about me wanting to take everything from her true-born children? Gods…even…even her daughter’s maidenhead!”

He turned abruptly again, hand bracing the table as he took deep breaths as though trying not to vomit. Sansa could feel the tears stinging her eyes as she watched. She had known this was going to happen, had told herself many times in order to prepare herself. But now that it was happening right in front of her, she could barely control her emotions.

“It wasn’t anything like that!” she replied, trying not to be hurt at the accusation. “I had to because Petyr was going to kill you otherwise. Everything I did was to protect you. And yes, part of it was selfish for I so desperately wanted to escape him. But I never wanted to hurt you, please Jon. I would never want to hurt you like this without good cause!”

She reached for him again but Jon reared back again. He paced in front of her a few times, deliberately not looking at her before he suddenly stormed towards the flap and Sansa opened her mouth again, trying to reason with him and get him to stay.

“Don’t!” he hissed, standing taut like a bowstring in the open flap, still not looking at her. “Don’t say anything and don’t…don’t come near me!”

Sansa felt her breath catch on broken sobs as she collapsed into Jon’s chair, her head falling into her hands as she tried to stop herself from crying. She had spent years in Kings Landing telling herself that nobody would see her tears but this was a different kind of torture. If the rumours of Rickon proved to be false and Arya never returned, Jon would be the only family left to her and she had pushed him away, disgusted him and humiliated him.

For the first time, she wished Jon had never came to the Vale.

***

When she awoke the next morning in her own tent, she was confused at two things. Firstly, that Ghost was by the door, sitting on his hunches and watching her intently. The second was how quiet the camp seemed despite the sunlight already beginning to creep across the ground as an indicator that morning was well under way.

“Ghost, where is Jon?” Sansa asked, stepping out of the bed and reaching for her robe. She wondered if Ghost had been commanded to guard her tent. But Nymeria had followed her last night and had taken up guarding so there would be no need to send Ghost to her too.

The wolf whined and the sound made Sansa’s hairs stand on end. Ghost had always been quiet and it made Sansa nervous that he would make such a noise now. She crossed to him, kneeling in front of him so she could look into his face. The wolf gave a huff through his nose, wriggling his head free before he turned and left, leaving Sansa confused.

It was still quiet, she noted. Almost as quiet as a crypt and the thought made Sansa shiver as she quickly dressed herself.

She left her hair down, not wanting to take more time than necessary to present herself to everyone. She stuffed her feet into her boots quickly before exiting her tent. She stopped dead as she observed the campsite, the lack of men confusing her as she turned her head from side to side in order to try and glimpse Daenerys or Jon or anybody else that she would be able to discuss plans with.

A screech pierced the air then, the anger echoing through the air around them. Sansa turned around, stepping out a little further in order to get a better look as the large, black dragon soared over Winterfell. She brought her hand to her mouth in shock as the flames erupted from its mouth, the orange flashing before her eyes, the horror penetrating through her body and making her blood run cold.

_If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die._

Were there people inside Winterfell when she burned it? Was Ramsay in there now? The thought made Sansa’s stomach clench.

Ramsay was a monster, she knew. He most certainly deserved to die in Sansa’s eyes and she would have gladly listened to his excuses, endured his taunts and sneers because she would know that he deserved to die and that it was her duty as a Stark to listen to his final words, no matter how awful they would be.

And he was not Daenerys’ to take. If anyone should say how Ramsay should die, it was Jeyne Poole and Theon. His life belonged to them, what happened to him was all she could offer them.

But she wondered how many of the men that Ramsay had recruited had done so out of fear. How many of them had been forced to swear fealty with the threat of flaying family or raping their daughters? No, Sansa thought sadly as the smoke rose and clouded the air, thick and black as it covered her home, they should have been given a trial.

She felt a sudden anger travel through her as she thought of whether Jon had allowed for this. She couldn’t see Daenerys’ other two dragons in the sky. Had Jon managed to convince Aegon not to join their Aunt? Had he managed to control the last dragon? Had he genuinely not known that Daenerys would attack in such a way?

“Daughter.”

The word made her tense, her breath escaping in a tight gasp as she turned to face Petyr behind her. The same words that always echoed in her head when he spoke the word, words she had always had to swallow back when she had been in the Vale, now tumbling past her lips in a burst of righteous anger.

“I am not, and never was, your daughter. I am the daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn. I am the blood of Winterfell.”

She swallowed thickly when he tilted his head and stepped closer to her. She resisted the urge to show her disgust at him being so close, tried to choke down her need to glance around for anyone who might come between them. As if sensing her thoughts, Ghost and Nymeria brushed up on either side of her, teeth bared and heckles raised. Petyr shot them a nervous glance before looking back to Sansa.

“Are you proud of yourself?” he asked lightly, completely ignoring her outburst. He tilted his head toward Winterfell. Sansa bristled, her hand curling into Ghost’s coat for support. “Did you think about what dragons would do in Westeros? Did you look for the tales of what the Dragon Queen has done with them? Or did you only think about trying to humiliate me?”

Sansa narrowed her eyes. Petyr was trying to reach for that naïve girl, the one who he had taken under his wings and believed to be his loyal daughter. He was trying to shame her, make her think that he was the only one who could help her, that he was all she had.

But the wolves at her side spoke otherwise. She was a Stark, Winterfell’s daughter. She was home, or as good as and Petyr was in her Kingdom now, under her rules. She made mistakes, she should have thought about the damage the dragons could unleash and she will have to speak with Jon about such things. But she was not going to be made a fool again by Littlefinger and his manipulative techniques.

“I did what I had to do,” she responded slowly. “I won’t let you hurt him.”

“Oh Sansa,” he sighed softly as though she had said something terribly sad and it made her pause as he continued. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

“Stay away from me,” she snarled, hearing Ghost and Nymeria echo her, their teeth bared, red and gold eyes trained on Petyr’s throat in silent threat. “Or I won’t stop them doing what they want next time.”

She headed to the edge of the camp, finding Theon and her good sister staring out at Winterfell as the flames licked across it. Sansa felt her hands clench at the sight and caught Theon looking at her from the corner of his eye.

“It was ruined already,” he murmured. She didn’t know if he meant to say it as a simple confession or if he was wanting to comfort her for the scene unfolding before them.

“I knew, in my heart I knew it was ruined,” she responded sadly. “But I was never going to be prepared for this.”

“We’ll rebuild it,” her good sister said softly. “For Robb and your father.”

“Yes,” Sansa agreed, turning away from the sight and returning to her tent.

_The time for wolves has come again._

***

Jon did not come and tell her he had returned.

She only knew he had returned because she heard the commotion outside, the victorious cries, the taunts that told her that they had a prisoner or perhaps prisoners. And of course, Ghost had leapt to his feet, bounding out of her tent with a flash of white. Nymeria rose too but stopped at the edge of the door to see if Sansa was following before she stepped out.

Jon was standing three tents down from hers, absently ruffling Ghost’s ears as he spoke to Lord Royce. Daenerys was there too and Sansa noted that when Jon looked at his Aunt, there was a tension there, in the way Daenerys scowled and Jon’s back went rigid.

So, he hadn’t known her plan then, she thought.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, approaching the group. If possible, Jon’s body went even more rigid, his fists clenching at his sides as she stepped beside him. “Are you hurt?” she asked him, tilting her head to try and look at his face and barely biting back her sigh when he turned his head deliberately away from her.

“Lady Sansa,” Lord Royce said after a moment, giving a small bow and Sansa bobbed her head in acknowledgement.  “We are well, thank you for your concern. We have the Bolton bastard being held in Jon’s tent. Aegon is watching him with a few other men."

Sansa nodded, glancing towards the pitch and swallowing thickly. So close, the man who had done such awful things to Jeyne, had broken Theon, had bragged about his father’s role in Robb’s death. He was so close, she could step in there and look into his eyes, hear his last words.

“How many were killed?” she asked, eyes still staring at the tent.

“We only lost a few men when we stormed Winterfell,” Lord Royce answered, casting a sidelong look at Daenerys, sniffing slightly as he continued. “Once the dragon burned the doors down, we had it easy to go in and flush the traitors out.”

Sansa glanced at Daenerys then, schooling her expression to try and hide her distaste. She knew nothing of battles, did not know if there could have been another way. But the sight had given her chills all the same, a feeling of dread that Daenerys could destroy things with just a simple word, everything reduced to ashes and dust within seconds.

“And yet somehow my nephew isn’t grateful for it,” the woman piped up, glowering at Jon.

“I would rather not have dragons reining fire down upon my people,” he responded.

“Your… _your_ people!” Daenerys cried out, her eyes flashing dangerously and Sansa stepped between them instantly.

“Although I would rather it had not come to this,” she said, looking between them. “I thank you for your help, Your Grace. I know that you meant well and we are grateful for all you have done. And Jon merely meant that he identifies as a Northerner, the North is part of him as it is a part of me. So, they are our people in a sense, and especially with Winterfell back in our hands. He meant no disrespect to you.”

Jon said nothing as Daenerys glanced at him again before she turned and left with a barely contained scoff. Sansa paused, looking at Lord Royce who seemed to notice the sudden tension between her and Jon and cleared his throat before dismissing himself too.

“Thank you,” Jon said eventually, grudgingly. Still, the words, no matter how bitter they sounded warmed her heart and she turned to face him, giving him a tentative smile.

“You’re welcome.”

He nodded his head slightly before he abruptly turned his back on her again. Ghost gave her a long, soulful look before padding after his master. Sansa sighed. She should have known it was never going to be so easy as that. Jon was still mad at her, rightfully so. But when she thought of her time when she was Alayne, the way he had treated her with such kindness and gentleness, she could almost believe there could have been love there, someday.

_Nobody will ever marry me for love._

She had said those words over and over in her mind so many times when she remembered how she was cast from Willas to Tyrion, to SweetRobin, to Harry. All anyone wanted since Robb and Bran and Rickon died was her claim to Winterfell. Jon was the only one who would never take it from her and he could barely stand to be around her, could barely speak to her without a grudging, bitter tone.

Yet she hoped he could begin to forgive her eventually.


	10. The Wolves Will Return

She knew she shouldn’t have gone into the tent alone.

But she so desperately wanted to look upon Ramsay and hear him confess. She had heard the stories about him but still, she reasoned if he was chained and with guards, there was little harm that could come to her. The worst he could do was tell her awful tales of what he had done, but she had unwillingly imagined such things already.

“Ramsay Snow,” she greeted as she pulled the flap aside. His pale blue eyes flashed dangerously as he looked to her, his lips curling into a sneer.

“Lady Sansa,” Aegon began to protest but Sansa merely held her hand up, a sharp look sent towards him which had him giving a nod of resignation.

“Ramsay Bolton,” Ramsay corrected her then, his mouth moving into a twisted smile that made Sansa shiver. “I was legitimised by King Tommen Baratheon.”

“You are a bastard, legitimised by another bastard,” Sansa countered easily.

“Well, let me prove I have not the manners of a bastard, my lady,” he returned, bowing his head mockingly. “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with, my lady?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, looking for the tease. But Ramsay merely kept watching her, those pale eyes never blinking.

“I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell,” she said firmly. “Eldest daughter of Eddard Stark, sister to Robb Stark, your King and liege lord whom your family betrayed.”

“Ah. I never did anything to Robb Stark my lady,” he interrupted, shoulders jerking in the barest of shrugs, the best he could manage with his binds. Sansa was about to continue when Ramsay grinned, teeth bared like a beast about to attack. “Your sister though, I did many  _many_  things to her.”

Sansa swallowed thickly, feeling as though a bucket of cold water had been poured over her. It mattered not that it wasn’t Arya, no matter who the woman married to Ramsay had been, Sansa would never wish this on anyone, not even on Cersei.

“I made Theon watch when I took her the first time,” Ramsay said easily. “She screamed, it was such a delightful sound. The crying was a bit more annoying, especially when she was sniveling around my cock. Wasn’t quite the same uh,  _sensation._ Well, I doubt you would know about any of that, would you Lady Sansa? You would have made me an even prettier wife than your sister.”

Sansa bristled but her face remained impassive as she regarded him. She stepped towards him, watching his lips twitch with interest as he watched her approach. She knelt in front of him and forced herself to meet his eyes. She was a wolf, she feared no man anymore.

“You’re going to die and so is your father for what you have done to my family,” she stated coolly giving him smile, a flash of teeth. “You and your father are merely mongrel dogs. You are no match for wolves.”

She rose, nodding her farewell to Aegon before she turned and left. She managed to wait to be a few metres from the tent entrance before she braced a hand on a tree, bent over and vomited on the ground. She couldn’t get the images of what he had done to Jeyne out of her head now. A horrible part of her wants to make him suffer for it, watch him choke on his own blood. But another part of her, the Stark in her, told her not to rise to such things, that she was better than such a man who would take pleasure in killing and hurting others. Her father would never have encouraged revenge in such a way.

“Lady Sansa.”

She turned to see Tyrion making his way towards her. She gifted him a slight smile, tilting her head in acknowledgement as he approached. As he neared however, her smile faltered as she took in the grimace on his features, the way he took a deep breath as he stopped before her.

“Are you well, my lord?” she asked gently, her eyes flitting over his frame with concern. His lips twisted into a mocking smile and he tilted the flask he had been holding towards her, his smile growing as she sniffed in judgement.

“Your concern touches me, my lady. A shame we couldn’t make our marriage work,” he stated, taking a sip. Sansa cleared her throat, glancing down at her hands, the only sign of her impatience. “I wanted to speak with you actually.”

“Very well,” Sansa stated, blinking at him. He cast a glance behind him and Sansa’s eyes followed to where Daenerys was with her dragons. She looked back to Tyrion, knowing he was seeking a private audience. She nodded quickly, turning to lead him to her tent.

She sat herself on the bed, indicating for Tyrion to take the chair. He nodded, hand trailing along the edge as though it was some lifeline. She frowned at his dejection, the Tyrion she had known had been quick-witted and it had seemed little had worried him.

“I fear I made a mistake convincing Daenerys to come to Westeros,” he said lowly after a moment. Sansa tensed, eyes automatically cutting to the entrance of her tent.

“My Lord, such things should not be discussed like this.”

“I have heard some distressing rumours my Lady,” Tyrion continued as though he hadn’t heard her. “Since we returned, I have heard rumours of her time across the Narrow Sea. She murdered people without trial, she tortured children in front of their fathers. I didn’t believe it at first, I had wanted to believe in her and in Aegon. But then, I saw what she did to Winterfell.”

“And what am I to do my Lord?” she asked. “I have no dragons to fight her with should she decided to use them.”

“Perhaps if Jon were to go South and advise her then...”

“Absolutely not,” Sansa cut him off with a snarl that shocked them both. “Jon will not go South. No Stark will ever go South again!”

“Jon is not a Stark, my lady.”

“He is to me!”

She felt her chest heaving with her anger at Tyrion’s words. Jon belonged in the North, in Winterfell. He belonged with his family. She longed to say he belonged with her but the longer he continued to ignore her, the more fading that dream became.

“I did not mean to cause offence my lady,” Tyrion said after a moment, glancing away from her in reproach. “But I do think you should warn Jon to be wary of his aunt at the very least.”

"What are the other choices?" Sansa asked. "Your sister? Or Stannis? Forgive me, my Lord but neither fill me with confidence."

"No," Tyrion replied with his wry smile. "I think there may be another option yet."

***

She was aware that Jon was avoiding her. That in itself didn’t bother her, she understood he needed to be away from her to process everything that had happened. What did bother her, however, was how he lacked subtlety when he did it. She heard the whispers around the camp about how the Stark siblings were at odds with each other, how they may fight for the rights of Winterfell.

Sansa has had enough of her family torn from her thanks to needless wars. She would not lose Jon in another. She knew she had to halt the gossip before it became real plans for disposing of Jon. If Littlefinger got the slightest whiff of the news that there could be a split in Northern loyalties, he would strike.

She nudged her horse forward, bringing it in line beside Jon’s. He didn’t spare her a glance but she watched his fingers clench in the reigns as they rode through the gates side by side. Ghost and Nymeria raced past them, running through the courtyard and sniffing at the ground in interest.

“Put Ramsay and Roose Bolton in the cells along with any men who helped them take over Winterfell,” Jon commanded as he dismounted his horse. He paused slightly as he pulled off his riding gloves before looking to the guards again. “And Theon too.”

“What?” Sansa asked, turning sharply towards him.  She opened her mouth to protest but remembered her promise not to give fuel to the rumours that were circling. She stepped towards Jon slowly. “Jon, may we…?”

“Not here,” he growled, taking her arm and leading her towards the stables. Sansa pursed her lips at the move when she heard the whispers start. For once, she hoped it was just men making lewd suggestions as to why her husband would want to lead her to the stables. She watched as he bolted the door, taking a deep breath as he held his palm to the wood for a brief second before he turned to her.

“He killed Bran and Rickon, he took Winterfell and his actions led to Robb’s death so forgive me if I think he should be punished,” Jon stated coldly.

“He didn’t kill them. He swears Bran and Rickon are alive!” Sansa insisted.

“Oh, he swears, does he?” Jon sneered, turning away from her and running a hand through his hair.

“And he helped Jeyne escape!” Sansa continued.

“I thought it was Arya I was fighting for! Yet another lie!” Jon snapped back, his eyes like steel as he faced her once again.

She remembered in Kings Landing when Joffrey would snap at her, the way Cersei would look at her. She had always been fearful of a beating, of being stripped before the court. The few times she ever did stand up to them, she had feared for her life. And Jon’s look, this gaze of complete anger and disgust is worse than the looks the Lannisters ever gave her. Still, she swallowed and met his eyes. She is no longer a little bird, she told herself, she is a wolf, as much of a wolf as him.

“Does justice only matter when it is kin?” she asked coolly. “Because she is not our sister, you don’t think Theon’s actions are worth his redemption? Have you seen what Ramsay did to him? Do you know what he did to Jeyne? Ramsay took pleasure in breaking them both, boasted about it.”

“How would you know that?” Jon asked suddenly.

“What he did to them? I spoke with…”

“No,” Jon interrupted, taking a step towards her. “How do you know that Ramsay boasted about it?”

“I…I confronted him.”

“You…why?”

“I had to know what he did,” she replied. “I had to hear him say it. And I listened to what he said about Jeyne. And I believe Theon when he says Rickon might be alive. He told me that Stannis has sent one of his men to look for Rickon.”

“Even if it is true,” Jon said slowly, running a hand over his face before he looked at her again. “He still killed two other boys then. Still took Winterfell and betrayed Robb.”

“He has been through enough. Either kill him quickly, send him to The Wall or pardon him. But don’t pretend this has anything to do with Robb or Bran or Rickon or even Arya! This is some petty revenge for the way he treated you when you were a bastard.”

“That is not true!” Jon snarled and Sansa stepped back instinctively.

“It looks that way,” she retorted but she kept her voice soft as she continued. “You must hold a trial at least, if you are intending to make him suffer more.”

“Of course there would be a trial,” Jon said, blinking at her in disbelief. Sansa folded her arms across herself, biting her lip.

“I heard Daenerys killed slave masters without a trial,” she whispered, eyes darting to the door as though she thought the woman was going to come through at any moment. Jon’s mouth twisted.

“And where did you hear that? Your new father?” he asked mockingly.

“Tyrion actually,” Sansa replied. “I assume his word is good enough for you?”

Jon said nothing, staring at her with cold eyes. After a moment of tense silence, he made a growling sound and wrenched the bolt free, throwing the door open with such a force the sound echoed around her and made her shiver involuntarily. He stormed out, not even glancing back at her.

She sighed, her eyes stinging as she made her way through the courtyard and into the castle. She knew that Jon would want to hold a meeting as soon as possible, would want to calm the nervousness of Daenerys, Aegon and the dragons. But all she truly wanted was a bath and her bed.

Her bed, she thought with an unstoppable smile, her tears all but forgotten now. She would be in her old room again, she would truly be at home again once she climbed under the furs. She could barely wait for the council meeting to be over.

She saw her great uncle at the entrance to the Great Hall and he turned as he heard her approach, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he held out an arm. Sansa rushed into his arms, closing her eyes as he embraced her.

“Are you alright my dear?” he asked gently. Sansa nodded against his chest.

“Jon won’t talk to me though,” she whispered, letting out a long sigh. Brynden made a similar noise and he tenderly pushed her back so as to look at her face. He stroked her cheek as he moved her hair from her face.

“He will come around. Just give him time.”

“I want Littlefinger dead,” she mumbled, eyes flashing as she met her uncles. He gave a short nod.

“That can be done in time too, sweet one,” he replied. Sansa blinked, her breath catching in her chest as she remembered how her father had used to call her such. The memory of him seemed sharper than normal, for the first time since those days after his death, she was actively thinking about him. It made her heart ache to think of how he had never wanted to leave Winterfell, how she had since learned that she shouldn’t have left either.

She allowed her uncle to escort her into the hall. Jon was sitting beside Daenerys, the two of them exchanging heated words if the clench in Jon’s fist was any indication. Ghost was lying in front of the table and raised his head to watch her approach, his tail giving a quick few thumps against the floor as she reached and patted him on the head. Jon’s lips pulled into a thin line as he watched, a curt nod her only greeting as she took her place beside him. She wished Nymeria were here too but with the wolf pack she had brought with her, it had been decided she should remain outside of the castle for now.

Jon stood slowly. “My Lords, I thank you for your aid in reclaiming Winterfell for my family.”

There were a few murmurs across the hall and Sansa noticed that the majority of the Lords in the room were hardly looking at Jon but instead had their eyes trained on Daenerys with barely hidden contempt. Stannis stood by the door, his hands clasped behind his back as he observed the high table. She saw Littlefinger in the corner, a smirk on his lips as he absorbed the discontent brewing around the room.

“Of course,” Sansa said quickly. “Daenerys was invaluable. We couldn’t have won without her.”

“It is lucky that you even have anything left to claim victory over,” Lord Glover commented and a few Lords tittered with their agreement.

“Winterfell is still standing,” she countered. “And the damage can be repaired.”

“My Lady,” Lord Glover continued. “You are a kind woman, like your mother.” Jon’s fingers twitched beside her and Sansa glanced down at the movement and up to Jon’s face as Robett Glover continued. “But Targaryens have brought nothing but chaos to the North ever since Aegon the Conqueror.”

“I am not Aegon the Conqueror,” Daenerys replied coldly, hands folded in her lap as she looked across the hall. “And I am not my father either.”

“No?” Glover questioned. “You fought for Winterfell out of the goodness of your heart did you? For a nephew you never knew existed before now?”

“The North is my Kingdom too,” Daenerys returned. “Would you rather have Cersei?"

"Are those the only two options?" Stannis asked coolly, his eyes fixed on Daenerys before flickering to Jon. "I thought you were a man of your word Lord Snow."

"I never gave you my word that I would take Val and Winterfell for you," Jon replied. "You and your army decided to fight without such promises from me."

“I care not about you," Lord Glover snarled, pointing at Daenerys and then at Stannis. "I don't care about you either. Or Cersei. All due respect, I would rather have Sansa Stark!” he snapped and Sansa felt as though snow had been dumped all over her. She shivered, eyes widening as the Lords murmured their agreement. Littlefinger smirked in the corner and Sansa swallowed thickly. He wanted this discontent between Daenerys and Jon, wanted to trigger the Dragon Queen’s rage. She reached over to grasp Jon’s hand instinctively. He tensed, frowning at her and then following her gaze to Littlefinger.

“You are all very kind,” Sansa replied demurely. “But Jon did what he thought was best with what he had at his disposal. I trust him with the North and with Winterfell. And I believe him when he says Daenerys cares about him and the North. Robb named him his heir, not me.”

“Of course, marriage can solve all sorts of conflict,” Daenerys continued. “Which is why my advisers and I propose that Jon and Sansa should marry. I will go south to deal with Cersei afterwards, and Jon and Sansa will remain in the North to rule.”

Jon removed his hand from hers with a rough tug, falling into his seat with a sigh. She lowered her eyes to the table, feeling the tension in the room as the Lords continued their muttering. Daenerys fidgeted, eyes sweeping over the room impatiently.

Ghost suddenly leapt to his feet, a tense stand as he stared at the door. He let out a little huff and bolted down through the crowds, ignoring Jon’s calls for him. He raised himself on his back paws, scratching insistently at the door, turning to look back at them.

“Ghost, what is it?” Jon asked, stepping up to the door and pushing it open. Ghost ran through the gap, bashing into the door slightly in his haste. Sansa leapt to her feet, following Jon and the wolf out of the doors.

She almost collided with Jon’s back as she ran into the courtyard, her hands flying to his shoulders to steady himself. Sansa glanced at him, the way he was staring dead ahead with a look of wonder. And Sansa followed his gaze, her breath catching in her throat as she saw Ghost rubbing his head against another wolf. Her eyes flickered to the side, tears stinging her eyes as she launched forward, wrapping her arms around the boy in the chair.

“Bran,” she sobbed, burying her head against his cheek. “You’re alive. You’re _home_!”

“Yes,” he replied gently, wrapping his arms around her too. “This is Meera Reed, she helped me.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, hugging the girl before she could stop her. Meera stood awkwardly in the embrace until Sansa pulled back, wiping her eyes. She looked back to Jon, who was still staring in shock. It was only then that Sansa realised that Nymeria and her wolves were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder: Jon is not Lord of Winterfell or King in the North, just an army commander. He was going to suggest becoming Lord to help "Arya" recover. But since Sansa is now alive it doesn't matter. Unlike the show, they will back Sansa as LoW/OitN as Littlefinger promised in the books.  
> Daenerys was already heading to Winterfell when Sansa asked her to come to the Vale instead, in order to get Daenerys on side against Littlefinger. The Lords do not know this, only know that Jon recieved a raven from Dany saying she was on her way to help.  
> And the discontent is more from what happened in the battle.The further destruction of Winterfell.  
> Just to avoid confusion.


	11. Trials

The Great Hall was silent as Bran was wheeled to the long table. He observed everyone gathered with a distant look, almost as though he wasn’t truly seeing them. Sansa reached to grasp his hand tentatively.

“Bran,” she murmured gently. Her brother’s eyes flickered to hers and then back in front of him as if he hadn’t even really noticed her.

“We have little time,” he stated slowly. “The Wight Walkers are approaching The Wall as we speak.”

“The Wight Walkers?” Aegon repeated with a snort, looking around the room for a supportive chuckle but his grin dropped when he received no such response. He sank back into his chair beside Daenerys, who was frowning at Jon. 

“You never mentioned anything about this,” she commented.

“There was not much time,” he responded simply. “But I have seen them, I have fought them. The threat is real and, if they have come so close to The Wall now, then we truly must start to prepare.”

"What needs done?" Sansa asked, letting go of Bran's hand to stand up. Jon regarded her for a moment before he turned back to face the hall.

"We need to train everyone. And I mean, everyone. Boys and girls over the age of eleven," he said, "And we will need your dragons, Your Grace."

"We will help," Daenerys promised with a furious nod. She pressed her palms together as she looked up at him. "But about your marriage..."

"Seven Hells!" Jon growled, running a hand through his hair wildly. "The throne, the North and everything in between can wait until this is over!"

Daenerys recoiled, blinking in shock at Jon's tone but thankfully, she remained silent, only casting a look at her followers. Jon released a breath through his nose before he swept his gaze across the hall once more. His hands curled into fists, resting on the wood of the table and Sansa wanted to curl her fingers around them and support him.

"We need to work together," he stated firmly, his eyes flickering between Daenerys and Stannis. "I mean, everyone."

"And you think that Cersei will agree to that?" Glover growled. Laughter echoed around the halls at the suggestion. "Or the Freys?"

There was a series of growls around the room, a few scoffed at the suggestion. Lyanna Mormont spat at the name of the Freys.

"The Freys will not join us," Bran declared, his voice drawling and slow. "They will not be able to, their house will be destroyed."

"What?" Sansa blurted, casting a nervous glance at the room before reaching for Bran's hand. Her brother barely looked at her as her fingers curled around him, his eyes rolling back until all she could see was white. "Bran, how could that be?"

"No-one," Bran mumbled, a smile tugging at his lips. "Just a cat."

Sansa felt the blood drain from her face and she instantly sought her uncle Brynden in the crowd, needing to see his reassuring eyes upon her. He had killed her mother, she had seen it with her own eyes. She had saw the hatred in her mother's eyes as she looked at her, as she looked at Jeyne and she had watched as they had dulled as Brynden plunged his sword through her. Her uncle looked pale as he locked eyes with her but with the merest tilt of his head, he signaled for her to remain silent.

"Thank you for your time my lords, my ladies," Jon said as he removed his tense hands from the table and took a step back. "But I would like to spend time with Bran. I'm sure you can all understand."

The hall was filled with the sound of wood scraping against stone as their guests stood and made their way out of the room. Sansa caught her uncle's eye as she walked around the front of the table. Glancing back, she saw Jon grasp the handles of Bran's chair and begin pushing it as the floor started to clear in front of them. She was so busy focusing on Jon's back that she didn't notice Bryden coming to stand beside her, the slight touch to her arm startling her. He smiled kindly as he held his arm out to her and led her from the halls.

"What do you think Bran meant?" she asked in a hushed whisper once they were in an empty corridor.

Brynden shook his head slightly, glancing quickly behind them. He grasped her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"Don't worry sweetling," he murmured. "I am sure Bran would tell you if it were truly anything to fear."

Sansa nodded, giving her thanks as he left her at her chambers.

Both Jeynes was sitting by the fire when she entered. Jeyne Westerling had her arm around the other, giving Sansa a small smile in greeting.

Jeyne Poole's eyes were red when she looked to Sansa and it made her cross the floor and kneel before her friend.

"What is it?" Sansa questioned gently, reaching to clasp her friend's hand.

"Is Theon going to die?" Jeyne asked.

"No," Sansa said firmly. "Jon may never have gotten along with Theon but he wouldn't sentence Theon to death for petty revenge. Jon is a good man."

"Jon loved Robb though."

"He did. That won't stop him being just though," Sansa assured her. "There will be a trial but I think if Theon tells them of what Ramsay did to him then most would agree that is punishment enough."

"Oh!" Jeyne Westerling gasped suddenly, causing Sansa and Jeyne to turn to her. "The babe is moving!" Her good sister extended a hand towards Sansa, a bright smile lighting up her pretty face. "Come and feel."

Tears pricked at her eyes as Jeyne guided their joined hands over her bump and Sansa felt her nephew or niece for the first time. Her good sister giggled softly, her hands rubbing her bump proudly as the babe began to settle. And Sansa was struck with a sudden feeling of sadness as she thought of how this could be something forever lost to her now. True, taking the moon tea had protected Jon, at least before Daenerys had decided they should marry anyway. But a selfish part of her, the part that had always wanted a kind husband and beautiful babes, wondered if she would have been carrying Jon's child by now if she had tossed it away. 

It had to be done, she reminded herself. For Jon, it had to be done. Petyr would have used the child to shame and control Jon, would have bound him forever to the shame of bedding his sister. The Lords would know nothing of Jon and Alayne, would think Sansa was a maiden still and Jon her protective brother.

"There are chambers set up for you both," she said, forcing a small smile at Jeyne Westerling as she rose to stand. "You will need your rest so let me arrange for a guard to take you to them.”

***

The next morning, she found Bran in the Godswood, staring unseeing at the heart tree. She paused in the entrance, unsure if she should disturb him but then he whispered her name, glancing slowly over his shoulder at her. Taking a deep breath, she approached him and sat beside him on the branch. Her hands clasped together nervously as she regarded her brother.

"I saw you," Bran stated suddenly, his voice distant. "Among mountains and snow."

Sansa frowned, her heart hammering in her chest. "I was in The Vale for a time."

"Yes, as Alayne. And you married Jon there."

"How could you know that?" she blurted, fear curling around her heart. His words from the day before echoing in her mind. "Bran, how do you know such things?"

"I'm the three-eyed raven now," he replied, slowly turning his head towards her with a small, secretive smile.

"You're Lord of Winterfell," she corrected him. "As the eldest surviving son of Ned and Catelyn Stark, Winterfell is yours."

"No," her brother murmured, looking away again, eyes staring at the faces in the tree. "No, Winterfell is for you and your children."

"Children I may never have," she responded dully, giving a mirthless laugh.

"You will have many children. Boys and girls," Bran assured her.

"With Jon?" she asked before she could stop herself.

_You're a stupid girl with stupid dreams who never learns. Why do you cause yourself this pain? Jon doesn't want you, he can't even look at you._

"I have spoken to Jon as well," Bran replied.

"Wait," Sansa blurted, ignoring his reply as he reached for him and, in her panic she fell to her knees in the snow between them. Still, the question burned in her throat, spilling forth even before she managed to grasp Bran's frozen hand. "If Winterfell is for me as you say, what will happen to Rickon?"

Bran slowly turned his face towards her and she felt the breath rush from her lungs as though she had been hit in the chest at the sadness in his eyes. She shook her head in denial, dropping her gaze to their joined hands.

"Will I see him again?" she mumbled, clenching her eyes shut at the sob that followed her words.

"Sansa."

She jumped at the sound of Jon's voice, turning to see him standing in the entrance of the Godswood. In his furs and his hair tied back he looked especially kingly in her opinion. And handsome, the devilish part of her mind prompted. 

"Is it time for the trials already?" she questioned, rising to stand and dusting the snow from her skirts. Jon gave one curt nod before he left. Sansa glanced at Bran, ready to ask if he was ready to go back inside but, as if sensing her unasked question, he shook his head and gave her a small, reassuring smile.

So, gathering her skirts, she made her way back towards the keep. She glanced up at the sky as she entered the courtyard, the dull grey signalling that there would likely be more snow. Winter was here, she thought, huddling her cloak tighter around her as she stepped inside. Brynden was waiting for her once more, holding his arm out wordlessly. She linked her arm with his, allowing him to lead her back into the Great Hall.

Ramsay was standing in the middle of the room, chains linking his hands together. His head turned as her boots clipped against the floor and the grin that twisted across his mouth made Sansa want to seek shelter behind her uncle. Instead, she raised her head and held his gaze as she took her place by Jon's side. Only once she was seated, did she look away, her gaze flickering away to where Jeyne Poole sat in the corner, trembling as she looked upon her abuser. Theon was to the left of where Ramsay stood, his own chains binding his hands as guards gripped his arms, ready to bring him forward when necessary.

"Ramsay Snow," Jon declared, standing from his seat. "You are charged with treason against House Stark, against your King and liege lord Robb Stark. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty," Ramsay replied, stretching his hands out and smiling mockingly. "I did nothing to Robb Stark, nothing to your little brothers and nothing to your sister." He turned and sneered at Jeyne then before looking back to Jon smugly. "After all, my wife was not Arya Stark."

Jon's lips pressed together in a thin line, his eyes narrowing on his prisoner. Beside him, Daenerys shifted in her seat and, glancing across at her, Sansa could see the restlessness clear on her face as she waited for Jon to declare Ramsay's guilt and sentence him to death.

"How much did you know about the Red Wedding?" Jon asked after a moment, resting a hand on the wooden table.

"Father told me after," Ramsay answered with a disinterested shrug. He looked over at Theon then, a joyous expression crossing his face. "Reek! I have missed you!" He turned back to Jon then, tilting his head in Theon's direction. "Now there is someone who should be sentenced for treason to House Stark."

"No," Jeyne said suddenly, her voice so soft it almost went unheard. But Jon looked towards her, stepping away from the table again as he waited for her to continue. "You made me pretend to be Arya so that you could claim Winterfell. But if I had been Arya truly, or even Sansa, you would have done all those vile things to me."

Jeyne looked towards the table then, her eyes hard even as she trembled still. Sansa stood immediately and crossed the room to take her hand, squeezing it beneath both of her own. Jeyne took a shuddering breath and looked back at Ramsay once more.

"He made sure I remembered my name, made sure I remembered to call myself Arya at all times. He threatened to make me like his Reek. And what he did to me...he would do to a true born daughter of Ned Stark too."

She paused, closing her eyes tightly as she tried to find her courage. Sansa shushed her gently as her sobs started to catch in her throat.

"It is true," Theon spoke up, his body trembling when Ramsay slowly turned his head to regard him coolly. "He made me do things to her too."

Sansa shut her eyes tightly as Theon began to recount what Ramsay had done to the girls who displeased him, how he had made Theon watch as Jeyne was bedded and how sometimes he was made to prepare her for the act.

Her morning meal churned in her stomach as he told of what Ramsay had commanded of his hounds.

_Poor Jeyne._

When he was done at last, Theon glanced briefly over to Jeyne, who gave him a teary smile in return and a brief nod of forgiveness for the pain of having to relive her ordeals.

"And he tortured you as well?" Jon asked, turning his gaze upon Theon.

"Many times."

"You were Robb's prisoner," Jon said slowly, his sharp gaze returning to Ramsay. "Not the Boltons. Did Robb give you permission to torture Theon?"

"I just did as my father commanded me."

"Your father who is conveniently dead and therefore unable to confirm or deny your statement," Jon responded dryly. "Regardless, what you did to Jeyne, what you did to Theon was not your right. The Starks banned flaying long ago so you are in fact, in breach of the law regardless of whether your father told you to do it or not." He looked to Jeyne then, his lips pressing together in a thin line. "And I believe what Jeyne and Theon have said, that you would have done these vile things to Arya or Sansa if you had the opportunity. And so, while you may not have harmed a member of House Stark you did betray them and I therefore find you guilty of treason and you will be executed in the courtyard at dawn."

Ramsay barely reacted to the sentence but Sansa still shuddered at his icy stare as he was dragged from the hall and returned to his cell in order for him to prepare for his execution in the morning. Sansa glanced at Stannis' impassive face as Theon was brought to stand in front of them.

"You don't need a trial," Theon declared, his voice as confident as the boy she remembered. "I ask only to die as Theon Greyjoy."

Jon regarded him silently, his eyes flickering to where Jeyne and Sansa sat together before returning his gaze to the prisoner. Placing his hand on the table, he seemed to ponder his words before he spoke.

"What Ramsay did to you was inexcusable and vile," Jon stated slowly. "I do not think you need to be punished anymore,"

Theon's shoulders slumped as he released a shuddering breath. "I deserve to die for what I did. Robb was a brother to me and I betrayed him."

"You have suffered enough," Jon repeated firmly. "No other sentence will be passed."

"You're being too soft," Aegon commented. "I say burn him."

"He is not your prisoner," Jon responded, giving a hard look at his brother. He turned towards the hall then, clearing his throat. "That is all for today. You are all dismissed."

Sansa barely had time to register the feel of Jeyne squeezing her hand before her friend spoke. "Wait!"

Jon turned to her, head tilting in surprise before lifting a hand and gesturing her to continue. Jeyne smiled at Sansa softly.

"I would never have been sold to Ramsay if it wasn't for Lord Baelish," Jeyne stated, her eyes cold as she stared defiantly across the room. "Lord Baelish has plotted and betrayed House Stark from the start. I was in Kings Landing when Ned Stark was arrested and I was taken by Lord Baelish." She turned to Jon then, her chin held high with defiance. "He was in on the plan all along."


End file.
